Never Too Late
by letmefallasleep
Summary: When Carol discovers that Daryl can't read, she takes it upon herself to teach him. But when boundaries are crossed, and disaster strikes, it's up to Carol to fix the broken hunter. Rated for mentions of past abuse, violence, torture, and language. Caryl angst/comfort.
1. Our Feelings Unsure

A/N: Alright, so just a short one shot. Takes place after they find Sophia, but before they leave the farm.

Warnings: General angst, mentions of past child abuse, language.

* * *

"Daryl?"

Daryl didn't look up from his fire as Carol sat down next to him, just kept carving more arrows. Just like Merle had always told him. You gotta few free minutes, you don't catch your breath. You just get ready for the next fight.

He chuckled softly, ignoring the curious look Carol gave him. Seemed like his whole life was spent getting ready for the next fight. Never a moment's peace. Never a second's respite. And even now, in the middle of fucking _nowhere_, half the population wiped out, and these people still insisted on taking even the quiet from him.

"You know… The whole point of bein' out here is to get away from you people," He said casually.

"Daryl, I… I appreciate… everything you did. Trying to find my daughter. I just wanted you to know that."

Daryl finally looked over at her, stopping his work. "I didn't do none a it for you, lady. I did it for Sophia. Ain't no kid… they ain't meant to… Wanderin' out there… It ain't right. No kid should hafta go through that."

Carol sighed. "I know. I should've… I wasn't watching her close enough. I shouldn't have let her wander like that. It's my fault. And to top it all off… I couldn't even go looking for her. I'm useless out there. We both know it. Hell, we all know it. I'm as useless to y'all now, as I was being Sophia's mother."

Daryl chuckled again, resuming his carving. "Trust me… I ain't excusin' what ya did out there. But you weren't useless to Sophia."

He looked over, and seen the tears streaming down her face. _Shit_. Crying wasn't allowed in the Dixon house. He wasn't sure what exactly the right thing to do was. So he sat. Silently. _Awkwardly_.

Finally, Carol broke the silence, swiping the tears away from her face. "I uh… I used to think that… By keeping her father away from her that… That I was protecting her. That it was better to stay and… and deal with Ed, than it was for me to leave, and take her daddy away. Or at least… That's what I told myself.

"But after… After seeing Carl… It was obvious. My daughter was… damaged. Even though her father had never laid a hand on her she was… still scarred. But even then… I just didn't know what else to do. I couldn't run. Not with Sophia. I couldn't have taken care of her on the road. So I just… stayed. And watched her get more and more frightened. What kind of mother does that make me, Daryl?"

Daryl sighed, finally setting the almost-finished bolt at his feet, leaning back against the tree. "My mamma… She left me. Couldn't take no more of my daddy beatin' on us. She said… Since she couldn't stop it, and she…" He swallowed thickly, running a closed fist against his chin. "She said she jus'… couldn't watch it no more. Said we would be… No worse off without her. An' she couldn't find nobody to take us in. So one day… Was 'bout, maybe, nine I think? She just packed her shit, walked out the front door… And that was it. Left me and Merle alone with our daddy."

He looked up, to see her watching him with pity, and he shifted uncomfortably. "I don't need your pity, lady. I survived, a'ight? I… Fuck, I don't _want_ your damn pity. I didn't tell you that to get no damn sympathy. I tol' you that so you knew. Even if what you did wasn't the best choice… It was a damn sight better than some you couldda made."

"I… I don't pity you, Daryl. I… empathize," Carol said softly, leaning over, and going to lay her hand on his head, stopping when he pulled away sharply.

"That's a mighty big word. The hell does it mean?"

* * *

Carol chuckled as she sat back on her knees. "It means… I understand. That I… sympathize. Not that I'm sympathetic, but that I sympathize."

"The hell's the difference?" She could see the discomfort, the _embarrassment_ written on his face at his lack of understanding, and suddenly realized what her laughter had cost him.

"It just means that… I know what you felt. Maybe… No, _definitely_ not as bad as you… but I know what it's like."

The younger man was silent for a few minutes, clearly wanting to say something. Finally, he stood, walking over to his tent, and bringing out two paperback books.

"Here," He said gruffly, tossing them at her feet, and crossing his arms over his chest. "Ain't much good to me. Might as well give 'em back to Hershel."

Carol picked the books up, and frowned. _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_, and _Journey to the Center of the Earth_.

"What's wrong with them?" She asked cautiously. Dale had told her he'd picked out a few books for the hunter that he thought he'd get the most use out of, but now she wondered if Daryl had taken offense to the books.

"Ain't nothin' wrong with 'em. Or maybe there is, I dunno. I… I can't read," He snapped, shifting from foot to foot.

"You… how did you never learn to read?"

" 'Cause I'm _stupid_, a'ight? I… Shit, I only know the damn alphabet up to 'E' for Christ's sake."

"And your teachers didn't work with you?" Carol asked in amazement.

Daryl snorted, biting his lip. "I never went to school. Merle… he tried teachin' me a little bit of what our mamma had taught him, but… I jus' never got it. My daddy used to joke and say… All I needed was to get my brain a few good knocks. We'd be sittin' at the table, an' he'd hand me the paper an' ask me to read him the game scores. He knew I couldn't. He knew it, an' I knew it. An'… when I'd… I'd jus' sit there, starin' at that damn paper, prayin' it'd all suddenly make sense… 'cause every time… He'd… He'd punish me by smashin' my head off somethin'. The table, the floor… The cook stove one time. Even left it lit an' everythin'. Jus' for me," He finished quietly, staring off into the trees.

Carol barely managed to keep her tears in, as the hunter dropped down, balancing on the tips of his feet, hanging his head.

"Shit. Dunno why the hell I'm tellin' ya this."

"You ever told anyone before?"

The younger man laughed darkly. "In case you ain't noticed… Not like I know a whole hell of a lot a people. It was always just my daddy, Merle an' me. Wasn't like I was gonna go runnin' to one a them for sympathy. Even 'fore all this started… Never knew anyone but my daddy and Merle. No other family… No relatives. We lived out in the sticks, so never had no neighbors either."

Carol smiled softly as she stood, and walked over to him, dropping back to her knees next to him. "Would you like to learn to read, Daryl?" She asked quietly, holding the books out towards him.

The man scoffed, swiping at his face with his sleeve. "Didn't you hear me, woman? I said I'm too stupid. So there ain't no point in either of us wastin' our time."

"I don't believe that. You're a lot of things, Daryl Dixon, and 'stupid' isn't one of them. You think somebody 'stupid' could've stayed alive these past few months? Somebody 'stupid' could've fed this group? It wasn't a stupid man who found my daughter's doll, or climbed up a mountain with a hole in his side to get that doll to me. That's not a stupid man."

"A'ight then, if you so smart… If I ain't stupid, then how the hell am I the only thirty year old man who can't read? Hell, kindergarteners can read better than I can," He scoffed.

"Maybe… You just didn't have the right teacher. So… If you don't mind, Daryl… I'd like to teach you how to read."

For the first time that entire night, the man met her eyes, as he slowly reached his hands out towards the books, a glimmer of hope on his face. Just for a split second, and then it was gone, but Carol knew what she had seen.

"I'd uh… I guess if you got the time… I mean, if you wanna try… Probably jus' a waste of time, you know," He said gruffly, as he grabbed the books back from her, and glanced at the cover. "Merle used to have this one. Said it was 'bout a guy who found a whole 'nother world underneath this one, yeah? I recognize the picture."

Carol smiled. "Yeah. You wanna start with that one?"

"Might as well, I guess. I mean, if you think it's gonna do any good. But uh… If it makes you feel better, I guess…"

"It does, Daryl. It does."


	2. This Life Has Taken Its Toll

A/N: Firstly, thank you so much for the positive reviews. After all of your requests to add to this, how could I refuse? : ) Not sure how far I'll carry this, but as long as I keep getting at least a few reviews, I'll take it as far as I can. Again, thank you to everyone who read, and special thanks to everyone who reviewed. Enjoy.

* * *

Carol had been surprised at just how eager Daryl had been to learn. Every night for a week, he'd shown up at her tent, fidgeting nervously just outside as he waited for her. After she came out, or came back –depending on where she was –the two would make their way up to his tent, her with the small satchel she'd managed to fill with two or so dozen loose sheets of paper she'd found, and a few pencils.

He with all his doubts.

He'd thrown himself into the task like a dehydrated man in a pool of water, but even the smallest mistake would upset him. The first time had been their second night. Everything had been going smoothly, until…

* * *

"I… I jus' don't get it," Daryl said quietly.

Carol looked up from her sewing. "Don't get what?"

"All of it. Hell, _any_ of it."

They'd made great progress the previous night. Carol had spent the better part of two hours going over the alphabet with him, and she'd been amazed at the man's quick retention. By the time they had finished, he'd had the alphabet memorized, and could recite it almost flawlessly, along with the sounds they made.

So that night, she'd set him to work on writing the letters. She'd written them all down –lower and upper case, along with short, three letter words for each –on two of the sheets of paper, and told him to copy them. Occasionally, he'd ask her a question, but for the most part, they'd been silent, with him bent over the small cutting board Carol had found for his desk, and her catching up on the clothing repairs.

But now, he was chewing on his lip, forehead furrowed, as he glared at the paper.

She sighed, as she set the shirt she'd been working on down, and moved towards him. "You were doing good, Daryl. So what's confusing you?" She asked softly, setting her hand on his.

He ripped his arm away as if she'd burned him, before pushing himself back a few inches, putting distance between them again. "All of it, woman! None of it makes any damn sense!"

Carol sighed. "Alright, Daryl. I think we just need to take a break for a little bit, alright? Why don't we just call it a night, and we can start again tomorrow?"

"Don't fuckin' baby me!" He snapped, chucking the board, and everything on it onto the ground as he stood angrily. "I ain't a toddler!"

"I didn't say you were. But you've already made a lot of progress, and if you're getting confused, it's best just to stop and relax for a while. No need to get upset."

"I ain't upset!"

Carol didn't say anything, just continued staring at him patiently.

"Jesus, woman, don't you ever say anythin'? I _tol'_ you I was stupid! Tol' you this was a waste a time! Shit, why the _hell_ I let you talk me into this?!"

She still didn't speak as she began picking up the scattered papers, pushing them together neatly, before setting them back on the board, peering down at them. She sighed as she seen what had confused him.

'_d_' '_b_'. He'd written them all –ten different times –as all 'b's.

"Daryl, this isn't… I mean, it's an easy mistake to make. There are adults who still make that mistake on occasion. It's not anything to get upset over," She said soothingly.

He glared, his eyes raging hellfire and brimstone, jaw twitching, fists clenching and unclenching as an eternity seemed to pass. Carol knew enough to keep her mouth shut. Even though her father hadn't been like Ed, she'd learned from an early age that sometimes, a person just got so full of anger that they had to take it out on something. Her father had taken out his rage –rage of a loveless, broken marriage, a dead-end job, and no hope of anything better for his children –out on the stack of wood next to the house, spending hours splitting logs into pieces to fit their fireplace. Ed, obviously, had chosen to take his anger out on the people around him.

She knew Daryl wouldn't hit her. He wasn't like Ed. But she didn't know what outlet he needed for his anger, so she sat. And waited.

She _knew_ he had to take that anger out on something. But she definitely wasn't prepared when he took it out on himself.

It took her a few moments to process what he was doing, and she stared, mouth agape, as he began punching himself in the head.

"Stupid! Stupid, stupid little shit!" He cussed. "Can't learn nothin'!"

"Daryl! Daryl, stop it!" Carol cried, rushing him. In her haste, she began to trip, and overcompensated, sending her crashing into Daryl. Both of them went down in a heap, and suddenly, Daryl's cussing changed.

"Get off me! Get off me, bitch! Get the fuck off me!"

Struggling desperately to untangle herself from him, Carol still tried to brace for the inevitable impact of his fists. Daryl had made his position on touching quite clear, and had reacted badly to even a kindly hand set on his shoulder in the past.

But the expected blows never fell. Instead, she felt him clawing at her, trying to forcefully shove her off of himself. Stupidly, Carol wondered how hard it could be to separate two people, if they both had the same goal in mind, but Daryl's frantic hands only seemed to complicate the process.

Finally, after what felt like eons, she managed to scramble backwards in a horrible facsimile of a crab-walk, scraping her hands bloody on the tree roots and debris underneath her.

But it seemed like Daryl was unaware that she had moved. He laid there, half-curled up in a ball, hands still frantically shoving at unseen forces, his cussing giving way to what sounded like grunts of pain.

"Daryl? Daryl, it's alright," Carol called softly, unwilling to move closer, afraid of making a bad situation worse. "Daryl! _Daryl_!"


	3. Kept Everything Inside

A/N: Alright, so this chapter is a little... stiff, I guess, and mostly filler. This whole chapter was meant to get us to the next point, so forgive me if it's a little boring, or repetitive. Necessary evil. Again, thank you to everyone who has read, and special thanks to all of those who have reviewed. : )

Oh, also, little aside... Obviously after Sunday's episode, we now know the fate of Daryl's mother, which makes mine a wee bit AU. Oops lol.

* * *

Carol could only watch in stunned horror, as Daryl began panting heavily, sweat running down his face, as he shook, still lying in the fetal position.

"Carol!"

"What's goin' on?!"

"Over this way!"

"Daryl!"

Rick and Shane's voices pulled her out of her shock. The others couldn't see him; _not like this_. He'd never live it down, never forgive her or himself for letting the group see him in such a state.

"Rick, stop!" She cried, pulling herself to her feet, and moving out into the darkness, towards the sound of the running group.

It wasn't her night for footing apparently, she thought as she collided with Rick.

"Carol! Where's Daryl?" Shane asked, moving to go past her.

"No!" She reached out, and latched onto his arm desperately. "No, he's… We're… We're fine, I just… I just need Rick," She babbled.

She seen the look the two man passed, and knew she wasn't making sense.

"I… There's no Walkers, I just… Everything's fine, I…" She glanced up at Rick, who was still holding onto her shoulders, eyes pleading with him to understand. After a moment, he nodded.

"Alright, false alarm, folks. Shane, you wanna make sure everyone gets back okay?"

Obviously still confused, but willing to trust their leader, the group did as ordered, with Shane only giving them a backwards glance, as he herded them back towards their own camp.

Rick waited until they were out of earshot, before turning his attention back to her, pulling her towards the now-dying embers of the fire.

"Aw, Jesus. What the hell happened?" He asked quietly, kneeling beside the now-still form of the hunter.

"I… He got upset, and he started… And I tried to stop him, and I tripped… We fell, and… He just sort of…" Carol stopped herself, knowing she was rambling, knowing that Rick's question had been more rhetorical than not. "What's wrong with him?"

Rick sighed as he sat back on his heels, considering the still body before him. "Shock. Maybe some sort of fit. Exhaustion. Hell, all three."

"Is… What do we do, Rick? What… I mean… Should we get Hershel?"

Rick scrubbed his hands over his face, before resting his chin against his fists, and taking a big breath. "No. No, I uh… I don't think that's a good idea. Let's… Let's just get him in his tent for now, and uh… I'll stay up here with him, and we'll just… see how he is in the morning, I guess."

"Is that a good idea?" Carol asked hesitantly. "I mean… If he…" She trailed off, chewing on her fingernails in worry.

"Carol, we both know Daryl won't appreciate anyone knowing about this. Hell, we probably shouldn't even tell him I was here. Now if he ain't better by the morning, then yes, we'll tell Hershel, but… I do think we should just try and see if he pulls himself outta this before then."

"Alright. But I'll stay with him."

"Carol, I don't think that's a –"

"Rick, you said yourself it'd be better if he didn't know you were here. He's gonna know if he finds you here in the morning," Carol interrupted softly.

"Carol… I've seen people come out of shock swinging at everything close to them. How do you think he'll feel if he beats the hell out of you on accident?" Rick asked quietly, still not looking up from Daryl's limp form.

"I don't think he will. He didn't when I fell on him," She said pointedly. "And even if he does… I owe him that much at the very least."

Rick sighed, quiet for a minute, before nodding. "Alright. I'll help you get him into his tent."

* * *

Daryl was still; almost lifeless, lying on the thin blanket that made up his bed. At least he'd stopped sweating and moaning, something he'd started again when her and Rick had maneuvered him into the tent.

Carol fidgeted nervously. Years of instinct made her fingers itch to pick up the tent. Fold his clothes. Throw out the papers from assorted granola bars, and other junk food Glen must have gotten for him. Gather his arrows into one neat pile by the door, instead of scattered everywhere.

But she tried shoving it down. She knew Daryl wouldn't appreciate her invading his personal space. His private sanctuary. It was bad enough that she was there; she didn't need to make her presence any more obvious.

But she could take his boots off; make him comfortable at least, she thought with a sad smile, as she moved over to his feet, and began unknotting the dark leather work boots he wore. Her smile turned into a small frown, as she struggled with the caked on mud, and muck. When was the last time he'd taken the damn things off?

Oh Lord, his feet smelled worse than some of the corpses they'd seen, she thought as she gently peeled his socks off. Then, all thoughts left her head, as she gazed in horror at his feet.

It wasn't the dirt. Surprisingly, his feet were actually relatively clean, considering the state of his boots. It was the second and third toes on each foot that were missing at the first joint. It was the left ankle that had clearly been broken, and never set that stuck out at a slight point on the side of his foot.

It was the small, white round scars that seemed to cover more of his feet than they didn't.


	4. How Do I Simplify?

A/N: Alright, so right off the bat... There is no Daryl/Carol in this one. I needed to explain certain things, certain reasons... And for once, Rick being a cop worked in somebody's favor. : ) So anyways... Never fear, this was a moment of temporary insanity. Not a trend. We shall return to our normally scheduled 'Caryl' next chapter.

* * *

"So what exactly happened up there?"

Rick sighed, as Lori wrapped her arms around him from behind, leaning back against her. The comforting weight of her on his back grounded him back out of the world of nightmarish dreams, and into the world of the nightmarish reality.

"Carol… She just don't understand that… Hell, she's baitin' the damn bear out there," He said with a sad chuckle.

He could almost feel his wife's frown on his shoulders. "I don't think Daryl would hurt her, Rick. He's… He's not like Merle."

Rick turned around, and pulled her close to him, giving her a small smile. "Lori… I don't think Daryl would hurt her… _intentionally_. But…" He sighed, trying to think of what he wanted to say. "Daryl's like dog that's been kicked it's whole life. All it wants is some love, and affection, but it's so damn used to bein' beat on that whenever someone gets close, it lashes out."

"But he's not a _dog_. He's a thinking, human being, Rick. And I think –in his own way –he cares for Carol."

"You're not getting it, Lori. You… Lemme tell you a little story, alright?

"Me and Shane were on call one night, when Dispatch called out a 10-16; domestic disturbance. Neighbors had called in reports of a woman and kid screaming. So Shane and I did our thing, hauled ass over there. By the time we got there, all we could hear was a guy cussin'. So we broke the door down, and…

"It was like somethin' out of a nightmare. The mother was lyin' in the hallway just in front of the door, with her skull bashed in, and just… just covered in blood. We knew she was dead; half her face was gone, and we could see pieces of her brain splattered all over the walls. So we moved into the living room, and we seen this guy. Big ol' boy, musta been 6'2, two hundred pounds, and he was pummeling the hell outta this kid. So I pulled him off, started to cuff him, while Shane went over to the boy. Next thing I know, I look over, and this kid is goin' after Shane, like somethin' from the damn Exorcist. I mean, this kid actually knocked Shane on his ass, and ended up bustin' his nose, and one of his ribs 'fore Shane pinned him.

"Now see, the kid didn't mean it. He was just so used to bein' beat on, that when Shane touched him, he just lost it. Never known a kind touch his whole damn life, so when Shane tried to help him, this boy instinctively thought Shane was gonna hurt him. No rational thought-process, just pure instinct. The body protectin' itself from what it seen as a threat."

"And… you think that's what Daryl's going to do?" Lori asked, the skepticism obvious in her voice. "He's not an abused little boy, Rick, he's a full-grown man."

Rick snorted as he laid back on the cot that served as their bed. "You tellin' me, you never seen him with some strange sorts of bruises, or limpin' while Merle was around?"

Lori's hand shot up to her mouth, her eyes going huge. "No, that's… He's an _adult_, Rick. And you've seen him fight; he'd be more than a match for Merle. He wouldn't let…" Her voice trailed off, unable to continue.

He sat up, and gave his wife a gentle kiss on the forehead. "Lori… You wouldn't understand. Your parents were some of the nicest people I ever met. But I'm tellin' you… Violence is _all_ Daryl Dixon knows. It's the only thing he's ever had. Why would he let Merle beat on him as an adult? Because it was habit. It was pattern. What he _knew_. Hell, that racist asshole probably started beatin' on him when he was still a baby. So it's been ingrained in his head for years. He ain't never had somebody touch him who don't mean him harm.

"You wanna know what happened up there tonight? Carol tripped, and fell on him. That was it. But Daryl… When I got up there, he was lyin' on the ground, drippin' sweat, moanin' like a damn Walker, twitchin' and shakin'. All 'cause Carol fell on him."

Lori shot straight up, horror written on her face. "What?! We've… We've gotta go up there, we gotta go get Hershel, and we have gotta go up there!"

Rick sighed, swinging his feet off the bed, and resting his elbows on his knees. "We can't, Lori."

"Rick, this really isn't the time to talk about how 'dangerous' he is! If he's… He could be in shock, like Beth was! You remember that, right? How she nearly died?" She snapped

"And just how the hell you think Daryl's gonna take that, huh?" Rick demanded. "Hell, you seen how well he reacted after he got shot; he was pissed that we all seen what we did."

"And what exactly did you see, Rick?" Lori asked bitterly, dropping down next to him on the bed.

_Scars. Scars on his back from a belt, scars on his front from where somebody sliced him up like the Thanksgiving turkey. Scars on his arms from cigarettes being put out on his flesh. Scars, scars, and more scars. Scars everywhere._

"It was… it was ugly, alright?" Rick said quietly. "It was real ugly."

Lori sighed, as she lay her head on his shoulder. "So what, we just 'wait and see'? That the 'Great Plan'?"

"Yeah. That's about the size of it."


	5. I Wish It Would Rain

A/N: Alright, so we're back to our normally scheduled sequence of 'Caryl'... Dunno how I really feel about this chapter... Mostly because I'm not sure where I'm going with this story. Hell, don't even know how far I want to take it, or anything lol. So I'm pretty much shooting from the hip here, and just trying to keep all the dots connected. Was briefly thinking about maybe doing a few flash back chapters, maybe explain how they came to camp, etc, etc... But I'm not sure yet. *shrugs* Any questions, comments, concerns, thoughts, ideas, criticisms... Feel free, 'cause I really need 'em right now! lol : )

* * *

Carol wasn't sure when she'd dozed off. She thought she remembered seeing the first glimmers of light from the rising sun, but it might have been (_probably was_) a dream.

The first thing she _was_ sure of though, was the blast of chilly morning air that hit her like a slap in the face, followed by a muttered curse.

In some part of her mind, Carol knew that Daryl had woke up. That he'd left the tent.

But another part of her drifted back to the mornings when Ed would get up to leave for work. Those quiet two hours she had all to herself, before Sophia woke up. The mornings when she would wrap herself up tight in the quilted comforter her mother had given her as a wedding present, and pretend that her life was something else.

So she burrowed deeper into the blanket –_blanket, where had she gotten a blanket?_ –and shut the world out.

Just for a little while. A few hours where her life was… something else.

* * *

The sun was just peeking over the top of the trees when Carol finally forced herself to leave the relative comfort of the tent, a fact that comforted her a little bit. At least she hadn't curled up, and wallowed in self-pity too long. Couldn't have been much later than seven.

She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, recognizing the now-familiar smell of forest, sweat, and smoke that filled her nostrils, as she seen the crouched figure, next to the small fire.

"Was wonderin' how long you was gonna sleep."

She kept walking, careful to give him a wide berth, careful to not be obvious that she was giving him his space, before dropping down across from him, her stomach growling loudly at the sight of the shish kebob… something… cooking over the flames.

"That smells so good, I don't even care what it is," She said dryly, trying to stop her brain from identifying the mystery meat.

Daryl grunted, his gaze locked on the flames, slowly twirling his large buck knife with one hand, the other propping his head up.

He looked like hell. She remembered the expression her father used to use when talking about his war buddies, saying they looked like 'warmed over death', and finally understood what he really meant. The large black circles under his eyes gave testament to the hellish night he'd had, his cheeks sunken, and pale, his body language screaming exhaustion, and defeat.

"Quit lookin' at me, woman," He muttered, pulling her out of her thoughts.

"I'm not."

"The fuck you ain't," He spat, anger distorting his features, as he chucked the knife off to his right. "I ain't some goddamned kid, gonna fall apart 'cause of a fuckin' 'boo boo'."

Carol bit her tongue. Knew better than to point out that that was _exactly_ what he'd done the previous night. Knew better than to point out that he couldn't know if she was looking at him or not, since he hadn't look up from the ground since she'd sat down.

That final thought jolted her, and she had a sudden flash of insight.

"Daryl… I'm not hurt," She said softly. "You didn't hurt me."

Frantically –incredulously –his gaze finally met hers, and she could feel the first hints of discomfort at the way he desperately searched her face, relief warring with disbelief. The look on his face just about broke her heart, the hesitation, the self-loathing… _the pain_.

Finally, he looked away, breaking the awkward moment, only to leave it filled with awkward silence, neither one of the completely broken people knowing what to say or do to fill that silence. The man unwilling to share, the woman unwilling to push, and both unwilling to follow the path that had led to last night's catastrophe.

It wasn't until the hunter made a move to pull the meat from the fire that Carol at last found words.

"Thank you for the blanket."

To her surprise, Daryl chuckled a little. "Smells like wet dog, blood, an' shit. Not sure 'thank you' is the right choice a words."

"No, it doesn't," Carol said a little defensively, curling herself further inside the blanket. "It smells like you."

There was a slight upturn at the corner of his lips, so faint Carol almost missed it as he ducked his head, and said, " S'what I said."

* * *

Daryl watched her almost disappear into the damn blanket, looking all... warm, and relaxed, as she daintily nibbled on the armadillo he'd handed her, lookin' so damn _content_ it made him twitch a bit in jealousy.

He hadn't slept for shit. Almost felt like the morning after one of Merle and his Pa's benders, which always left the youngest Dixon brother feeling like five pounds of shit in a three pound bag. Head aching, stomach rolling, eyes overly sensitive, ears ringing… Hell, he'd had _hang-overs_ less painful than what his body was currently putting him through.

"Aren't you gonna eat?"

He grunted, figuring that was the best response that wouldn't require more responses. Damn woman didn't know to leave well enough alone.

"How'd you sleep last night?"

He couldn't bit back the snort that escaped his lips. "Oh, jus' fuckin' peachy, Mrs. Brady."

"It looks like you didn't sleep at all."

Despite the pain threatening to split his skull apart, he raised his eyes to glare at her, this little, petite woman, who couldn't stop while she was ahead. He'd made grown men, twice his size, back away from that glare, but the damn woman only cocked her head to the side a bit, clearly expecting him to say something.

He _hadn't_ slept. Not really anyways. Or maybe he had, but he just hadn't rested.

Hadn't helped, coming to, and realizing he wasn't alone in his tent. It was still pitch black outside when he had groggily sat up, and felt his blood turn to ice at the sound of someone else's breathing.

Had taken him… Jesus, Lord only knows how long it'd taken him to recognize the quiet breathing with the slight hitch at the tail end as Carol's. Not the loud, obnoxious breathing of his father, with the low-pitched squeal in the middle, or Merle's deadly quiet breathing, so quiet you couldn't even hear it until it was too late.

It wasn't until the first rays of dawn had started sneaking into the small tent that he realized what must have happened. What he must have done. And he was suddenly glad of the still-present darkness, so he wouldn't have to see the bruised and battered face of the small, gray-haired woman, and know what he'd done. So he'd silently gotten up, and very gently wrapped his blanket around her, careful not to actually touch her, careful not to even _look_ at her.

But now… Here in the morning sunlight… He realized she was right. He hadn't hit her. He hadn't busted her face apart. Hadn't ground her bones into dust. Hadn't left her in a pile of her own blood and puke.

He felt his shoulders shake a bit at the thought. That had probably been the nightmare that had scared him the most when he'd woken. How easily his mind had slipped from his broken and bruised body lying on the floor, put there by either his father, or Merle, to the image of Carol in his spot, with him towering over her, taking the spot of the men in his life.

No wonder his damn stomach was twistin' itself up into knots.


	6. Tear My Heart Open

A/N: Alright, so y'all have imustbeamermaid, and Al Harris to thank for this going up tonight. I was gonna wait, and post it tomorrow night, but imustbeamermaid encouraged me to get it all finished, and skip my usual three hour editing process, and then Al Harris proof-read it for me. So y'all should be grateful lol. Anyways, this chapter has a few more warnings than usual... There is some serious angst, disturbed-ness, and general fucked-up-ness. No graphic abuse, but it's... well, it's definitely a little brutal on the brain. Ye have been warned, as my sister would say.

As always, thanks to everyone who has read, and special thanks to everyone who has reviewed. Y'all make it a lot easier for me to keep plugging away at this. : )

* * *

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

He couldn't even find the usual reserve pool of anger, as he looked her in the eye, feeling the weight of his years, letting that weight crash over him.

"Do I _look_ like I wanna talk 'bout it?"

The damn woman –who was gonna be the death of him, he jus' fuckin' _knew_ it –only shrugged. "I don't know about '_want to'_ but I think you might 'need' to talk about it."

"Jesus, woman! Was last night not enough of a damn message for you? I ain't safe ta be around! What's it gonna take for you to get that through your thick fuckin' skull?! Fuckin' dumb luck that I didn't…" He swallowed thickly, unable to give voice to that particular line of thought. "This… this whole readin' thing was a dumb idea. Ain't no point in it anyways. Damn _apocalypse_ don't exactly require a high school education."

He watched her gaze move down to his feet, and he felt a well of shame bubbling up. When he'd woken up, both his boots and his socks had been off; he hadn't really thought about much more than quickly throwing them back on, but now… the way she was _looking_ at him. It hadn't even occurred to him that she'd probably been the one to take his boots off. That she'd seen the scarred, mutilated lumps of flesh that his feet were. Probably the first person other than his daddy or Merle to ever see the disfigured limbs.

"Did your daddy do that to your feet?"

Despite himself –_despite the anger, and the shame, and the hate building inside him like a damn storm_ –Daryl Dixon actually _chuckled_. "You jus' don't know when to quit, do ya? Jus' what the _hell_ do you want from me, Carol?"

* * *

Carol's eyebrows scrunched together a little bit, as she realized that that was the first time he'd ever used her name. She took a few minutes to gather her thoughts, as she thought about what he'd asked, before realizing how simple the answer truly was.

"I just want you to be happy, Daryl."

The younger man scoffed, as he finally moved from his crouching position, to a seated position on the ground, sending that glare her way again. "Why? The hell does it matter to you? You don't know me. I ain't _nothin_' to you. Ain't your kin. Ain't your _blood_."

Carol met his eyes firmly, refusing to be cowed. "Because. It mattered to you what happened to Sophia. Because I'll never get the chance to fix all the… all the _shit_ I screwed up with my little girl. Because you're just as good as any of those men down at camp. No, you're _better_ than most of them.

"Because you went out there _every day_ looking for her. Because you took an _arrow_, and a _bullet_ trying to find her, and still tried dragging yourself out there again as soon as you could. Because you nearly _killed_ yourself trying to find my baby. Because you were the only person in this place who gave me any hope that we might find my daughter."

Daryl snorted, as he shifted uncomfortably. "Wouldn't exactly thank me for that," He mumbled. "All I did was make it worse. Made it harder."

God, seeing him look so lost… So _broken_… It made Carol desperate to reach out, and offer him what little comfort she could. To give him a hug, or to hold him close, or _something_. It was almost more than she could bear, to just _sit_ _there_.

But she restrained herself (although she couldn't stop the tears welling up in her eyes, and dripping down her cheeks), as she said, "No, Daryl. You made it… bearable. To know that someone else cared. You did more than look for Sophia, you… You restored a piece of my faith. A faith I'd lost a long, long time ago.

"You, Daryl Dixon, gave me hope that this world wasn't all just… ugliness, and cruelty, and violence. That it wasn't all _evil_. Long before the Walkers showed up, I'd lost faith that there were any truly good people left in this world. That people gave a damn about others. That not all men were like my husband. You went out there and looked for Sophia, not because it was the right thing to do, but because you _cared_. And I want to return that, Daryl. I want to be able to do for you, what you did for me.

"I want to show you that not only are you not '_stupid_', or '_dumb_', or '_worthless_'… But that you're a _good_ man. That you deserve respect, and love. That you're worth just as much as anyone else here. That you're smart. That you're a survivor. That who you are is something to be _proud_ of, not _ashamed_ of."

"Proud?!" Daryl spat, cutting her off. "Jus' what the hell I got ta be _proud_ of, woman?! Huh?! That I'm thirty some odd years old, an' I can't fuckin' _read_? That the only thing I got left in this God-forsaken shit hole is a group of people that wouldn't blink a damn eye if I vanished tomorrow?! That the fuckin' world endin' was actually one a the best Goddamned things ta happen to me?! That I'm so fuckin' scarred up that I look like some sort a freak show?! That I ain't never been with a woman, 'cause ain't a damn skank low enough to fuckin' touch somebody like me?!"

Carol pulled back a bit in fear, as Daryl ripped his shirt up over his head, eyes flashing like a mad man, as he turned his back towards her.

"C'mon then, lady! Tell me that _this_ is somethin' to be 'proud' of!" He spat. "Tell me how much I'm fuckin' _worth_!"

Carol's mouth fell open in horror. She'd thought she'd caught a glimpse of his back that night when she'd taken him food. But he'd been so quick at covering himself, that it had been nothing more than a quick flash, especially in the dim lighting.

But now, in the morning sun, the full… ugliness of what had been done to him was clear. Long, thick, braided scars covered every inch of his back, relieved only by the sunk-in, white scars that were littered among the others.

Good God in Heaven, what had his family done to him?


	7. Bring Me Home In A Blinding Dream

A/N: Alright so... Firstly, I am very evil, and demented, and (hopefully) you shall all absolutely hate my guts when you reach the end. But hate me in a good way. I'll admit, this kind of took a swing out of left field, but all will be explained. I swear! Already half done with the next chapter, look for it Sunday or Monday. Thanks go out to imustbeamermaid for basically being my sounding board with this. The next few chapters will have some SERIOUS Caryl angst/comfort. Probably one or two new warnings as well, but I can't tell you what they are without giving away the story line. : )

* * *

Two days. It'd only been_ two days_. What the hell had happened?

Carol couldn't move from her spot at the end of the bed, staring at the bruised and bleeding body laying there, as Hershel, Patricia and Maggie all hovered over the body.

"Patricia, cut his clothes off, and then start cleaning some of this dirt and blood off; careful around the cuts, we don't want him to start bleeding again. Maggie, I'll need bandages, the stitching kit, and some antibiotics."

God, he was so _still_. He hadn't moved since they'd first seen him come stumbling out of the woods. And Daryl Dixon wasn't _ever_ still. The man wouldn't know the meaning of the word if it bit him in the behind. He was always moving, always twitching, always fidgeting. Even when standing still, the man drummed his fingers, or tapped his foot, or shifted from foot to foot. To see him laying there, so still she could barely see his chest moving, was almost more than she could handle.

"Carol! Either help Patricia, or find someone who can!"

Hershel's firm words yanked Carol out of her stupor, and despite her horror, she accepted the proffered washcloth from Patricia. Slowly -_gently_- she began to wipe off the blood and dirt off his feet.

Absently, she wondered how many new scars she would find there when all was said and done.

* * *

It had been two days since Daryl's outburst. Two days since he'd stormed off, taking nothing with him but his buck knife. Two days that he'd been gone, and two days that Carol had fretted and worried.

Rick and Dale were constantly trying to reassure her. He would be back, they said. He just needed some space. Just needed to blow off some steam. Just needed to take some time.

She snorted to herself as she started hanging the laundry on the line. That was all well, fine, and good, except for her worrying. While he 'blew off steam', she sat and fretted. While he 'took some time', she paced nervously. While he found 'some space', she chewed on her nails, and worried until the wee hours of the night.

She shouldn't have pushed him. She knew that now. Looking back on it, it all seemed so obvious. She'd pushed him and pushed him, before finally finding his breaking point. Pushed farther than he could handle, and he'd bolted like an injured animal. She'd never word it like that in Daryl's earshot, but it was the simple truth of the matter. He'd ran away from her like she had grown a few dozen heads, before disappearing into the woods, where he knew he always had the upper hand. Probably the only place he felt comfortable anymore.

She hadn't followed him, and she had come to regret it. She'd let him go, thinking he'd be back in a few hours; by nightfall at the latest, probably with some sort of meat for the group, be it a brace of rabbits, squirrels, or maybe even a full grown deer, trying to apologize for his behavior. Behavior that didn't need apologizing for in the first place.

But he _hadn't_ come back. Carol had spent all day sitting at that stupid camp, sewing his clothes, giving into the urge to clean his tent, building him a real fire pit from the remains of the stone shed he'd set his tent by, before picking up 'Journey To The Center Of The Earth', and starting to read.

When he hadn't returned by dinner, Dale had actually come up and sat with her at Daryl's campsite. Fed her some supposedly-reassuring platitudes, that had done nothing to ease her mind, as dusk had given way to nightfall. And then as night gave way to dawn. Which gave way to morning.

But just as she'd done with Sophia, Carol forced herself to keep moving the next day. There was always meals to prepare, clothes to be repaired, things to be cleaned... she had more than enough to keep her hands busy, and her thoughts focused.

And then night had fallen once again, and still, no sign of the tracker.

So -as she always did on Wednesdays- Carol had started laundry. Trying to keep her mind occupied. Trying to keep focused. Trying to keep from worrying.

She knew Daryl wouldn't have actually _left_ the group; in fact, the thought that he might have said _'to hell with 'em_', and vanished into thin air never even _occurred_ to her. But it was dangerous out there, even for a man like Daryl Dixon. Accidents like the one that had nearly killed him just a week ago, when the horse had thrown him into the quarry for example. It was nothing less than a miracle that he had managed to scale that cliff, and crawl back to camp. Miracle that Andrea hadn't killed him with that bullet, instead of just grazing him.

She shook her head angrily, swiping the tears away from her face, as she pinned up a pair of Shane's jeans. He was going to be just fine. No point in worrying; if anyone could survive two days by themselves with nothing but a knife during the end of the world, it'd be Daryl.

Sighing as she swung the now-empty basket onto her hip, she decided that tomorrow, she'd tell Rick that if he wouldn't go looking for Daryl, she'd do it herself. She wasn't going to wait for his rotten corpse to come walking out of the woods, and -

She squinted as she gazed across the field. What in the world...

"Dale?" She called quietly, to the man sitting on top of the RV. She waited until he swung his head around towards her before speaking again. "What is that?" She pointed towards the eastern side of the farm, waiting on tenterhooks as Dale dug around for his binoculars.

"Walker?"

Dale frowned. "No, I... I think that's... Daryl."

Before the words had even left his mouth, Carol dropped the laundry basket, and was racing as fast as she could towards the shambling form. Belatedly, she heard yelling behind her, realized Shane or Rick must have seen it, and was chasing after her.

"Carol, stop!"

She was only a half a dozen yards away when she felt Shane's arms wrap around her, ripping her backwards, and holding her tight. Instantly her mind began to flash back, as sobs started wracking her body. _Oh God, not this. Not like this, not again._

He was covered in blood, dirt, and gore. A large gash nearly split his cheek in two, while blood still poured from a clearly broken nose. His left arm hung at an odd angle, while his right was firmly pressed against his leg, where a few thin trails of blood had still seeped through his fingers.

Rick had raced by them, and had stopped a few feet away.

"Daryl? You alright?"

Daryl stopped, tilting his head a bit, licking his lips, before spitting, "Do I look a'ight, dumbass?"

She nearly screamed for joy. He spoke, he wasn't a Walker, he was alive, and he was still breathing, and -

Her joy was short lived, as Daryl's beautiful blue eyes rolled into the top of his head, whites flashing, before his legs collapsed, and he hit the ground.


	8. Rude Awakening

A/N: Alright so... Here's the next chapter, as promised. I have to apologize, it gets a little choppy towards the end, but I was reading a very humorous fic earlier (Surplus Imagination's If It Weren't For Bad Luck, I'd Have No Luck At All), in between working on this... And before I knew, the story somehow infected my brain, and when I looked back at what I'd written, I realized I'd went totally crack fic lol. And I had a really hard time getting back into the swing of things. But that fic is _very_ funny, y'all should check it out if you like humor. Anyways, shout outs to everybody who has read, and special shout outs and huge THANKS YOU's to everyone who has reviewed. Y'all rock. : )

PS: This is long enough where I'm gonna start naming chapters. If anyone has any ideas, please share. Only rule is, I only use song lyrics as titles. So if you have any particular verse, or a line from a song that you think fits something, let me know! If you don't want to leave it in a review, feel free to send a PM.

* * *

The Atlanta group was all huddled together in the small sitting room, anxiously waiting. It'd been an hour since Daryl had appeared, looking like death personified, and since then, most everyone had either stayed in the sitting room, or occasionally moving towards the kitchen, but nobody had really spoke; only the occasional hushed whisper broke the silence.

Finally, Hershel exited what had become the infirmary room, wiping blood off his hands as he glanced around the room, before his eyes settled on Rick.

"We need to talk. Privately," He said firmly, turning back towards the room. But Andrea's hand stopped him, practically yanking him around.

"Is he gonna be okay? Is he... is he bit?" She asked hoarsely.

Glancing around the room, Hershel was amazed at the concern on everyone's face. From what he'd seen and heard, the hunter wasn't exactly the friendliest member of the group; his quick tongue, and rough manners had kept most people at a distance from what he could tell. But now, looking around the room, every face showed at least a degree of worry. Of anxiety.

Too bad he didn't have anything to tell them that would relieve that anxiety just yet.

"He wasn't bit. That's really all I know at this point," He said firmly, giving the blonde woman a comforting pat on the back, before turning his attention to Rick. "If you don't mind?"

Rick motioned the others back, following Hershel into the make-shift hospital ward. He could feel the blood drain from his face as his eyes took in the sight of the hunter laying on the bed.

"Holy... What the hell happened?" He asked quietly, his gaze never moving from the bed.

"That's part of what I wanted to talk to you about. That wound on his leg is a gun shot. His fingers were all methodically broken, one by one. Wasn't a fall, or an accident; somebody held him down, and snapped them individually. Those slices that got your stomach rolling... those are all meticulous. Maximum amount of pain, without inflicting anything that might kill him. That boy ran into somebody out there, and they weren't exactly the 'friendly' type," Hershel said pointedly, moving to the stool next to his patient.

"Has he said anything?"

The older man shook his head. "In all honesty, I'm surprised he managed to drag himself back here. He took a nasty knock on the back of the head. Fact that he was still _standing_ when you found him is nothing short of miraculous. Which leads us to our second problem," Hershel said, his eyes clearly troubled as he frowned down at Daryl.

Rick frowned as he took a step closer to the bed. "Second problem?"

"His left leg is broken just below the knee, along with his right wrist. Left shoulder's been dislocated. Already told you about his fingers, though there's not much I can do about that. But I've got to set the other bones, before I go any further. But I'm going to need help. Probably going to need at least you, and two others to hold him down. And it'd probably be better if your people vacated the house for a while."

Rick sighed as he slowly massaged his temples. "Alright. I'll get Shane and T-Dog in here. I'll... I'll tell the others, but I guarantee you, none a them are gonna want to leave."

Hershel shrugged. "Doesn't much matter to me. But he's gonna start screaming as soon as I start pulling. Can't have none of them bursting in here, and distracting me while I work. As it is, this is liable to send the boy into shock. If I'm not quick, or I hesitate... Well, I don't think I need to explain the consequences to you. "

"I'll make sure they understand. Where's Carol?"

It was Hershel's turn to sigh. "I sent her with Maggie. Told them to find some things that I might need. Doubt I will, but that woman's been holding on by a thread since you found her daughter; I was afraid that staring at this young man would have sent _her_ into shock, and I can't deal with that right now. Keeping this man alive is going to be a full time job for the next few days; I can't have any distractions."

* * *

She was biting her nails, Andrea realized absently. She hadn't bitten her nails since... Since she was in college, at least. She used to chew her nails to the point where her fingers would bleed in the days before a final exam.

Lori had disappeared with Carol somewhere. Andrea was pretty sure that that had been Rick's idea; Lori loved to have her nose stuck everywhere it didn't belong, and Andrea didn't think she would've left otherwise.

But Carol had been a mess, she had to admit. The woman was walking around like... well, a Walker. No intelligent signs of life behind those blue eyes. Lori had taken her hand, and simply lead her out of the room, much like one would lead a toddler; Carol never blinked, much less put up any sort of fight.

A horrific scream filled the room, and Andrea jumped, before feeling Dale's comforting hand on her shoulder.

"They have to do it, Andrea," The older man said sadly. "If... if they don't set the bones..."

"I know. I'm just... What the hell happened to him out there?" She asked, her voice breaking as tears filled her eyes. "And... is he gonna be able to... to recover? I mean, I saw him when they brought him in, and it looked like -" Her thought was cut off abruptly by another scream. Glancing around the room, she could see Glen clasping his hands together so tightly the knuckles had gone white. Carl -who once again had ignored his mother's orders -was practically shaking in the chair. Even Dale's face had gone white, and his grip on her shoulder tightened.

She could only pray that Hershel didn't kill him trying to heal him.

* * *

"Almost done!" Hershel bit out, licking a bit of blood off his lip. "Just that leg, and we'll be finished."

The three men holding down the struggling Daryl only grunted, their hands full with restraining the flailing hunter. Even with the three of them holding him down, Daryl had managed to blacken Shane's eye, give Rick a bloody nose, and T-Dog would probably be sore for days from the knee to the ribs.

"Jus' hurry up!" Shane snapped. "Daryl, knock it off!"

Ignoring the angry deputy, and -to an extent- his patient, Hershel maneuvered his way around Rick, who was keeping Daryl's torso pinned, and stood next to the large black man who was mostly laying on the young man's thighs. "Alright, hold him still," The older man said, before taking a deep breath.

As quickly as he could, he grabbed hold of Daryl's lower leg, and pulled.

* * *

Even with the distance between the farm and their camp, Lori could hear Daryl's pained screams. Idly, she wondered if the sound would carry enough to bring down any roaming Walkers, before mentally berating herself for having such horrible thoughts.

"It isn't fair. Shouldn't have been him. That man's been through more than the rest of us put together."

Lori's head snapped around to look at Carol. The older woman was staring at the house blankly, her eyes wet with unshed tears.

"I... I pushed him. I just... I was trying to help, but I kept pushing him. This is all my fault."

Lori sighed, reaching over to set her hand on top of Carol's, looking the other woman firmly in the eye.

"Carol, this isn't your fault. Daryl is a big boy; he makes his own choices," She said softly. " 'Sides... He's gonna be fine. Hershel'll take good care of him, and if anybody can survive... whatever it was that happened, it's Daryl. We both know that. H'es gonna be alright."

* * *

"It's done," Hershel announced, a little unnecessarily.

All of the men were silent for a few moments, before Shane finally spoke.

"So this... this was people. Other people, not Walkers, or another fall down a cliff," He said slowly, looking to Rick for conformation. When the other officer nodded, he scrubbed a hand over his bald head, sighing. "Think it's safe to say, Daryl probably didn't stray too far from camp, especially not in a day," He began slowly.

"But he was gone for two," T-Dog pointed out, wincing a bit as he dropped down into a chair.

Shane rolled his eyes. "He had to come _back_. Lookin' like that, guarantee you it would've taken him at least an hour to go half a mile. That means, there's other people out there, an' they's close. An' if they come lookin' for him... We got a big problem on our hands."


	9. I Am Awake, And I Am Dreaming

A/N: Alright, so... Firstly, how awesome am I? Two chapters in two days? C'mon, admit it... I IS GOD! Ahem, anyways, in all seriousness, things should start moving a bit faster now that I have a goal plan in mind, sort of an end game idea. I can't promise a chapter a day, but probably at least 2-3 a week. Also, little self-plug, if any of you like OFC/Daryl fics, I've got one going on if any one is interested.

Anyways, this chapter was sort of a lead in. Next chapter will deal heavily with mildly graphic torture, graphic mentions of torture, angst, comfort, etc, etc. Just so y'all have a little bit of forewarning. : ) As always, thanks for reading, and special thanks go out to all of my awesome reviewers!

* * *

"Any change?"

Carol looked up from her sewing -she'd taken to sewing all of the Greene family's clothes, just to keep her hands busy -and shook her head at the deputy. "Nothing. He... He's spiked a fever; Hershel says it's to be expected, considering the amount of infection. Every once in a while, he starts mumbling, but nothing I can make out. I think he's just hallucinating."

Rick sighed, before offering her what she thought was supposed to be a hopeful smile, although between the man's exhaustion, and own lack of hope, it was so fake looking as to be almost grotesque.

It'd been eight hours since Rick had come and gotten her at the camp, and asked if she'd mind sitting with Daryl, so Hershel could join in on the defense talks. _If she'd mind_. What a joke. How could she mind, or even think of saying no?

She'd only caught bits and pieces of the conversation that had taken place in the kitchen. Most of what she'd heard had been from Shane. Lord, but that man's voice could carry. Most of what she'd heard had been discussing '_whoever_' had taken and tortured Daryl. Not Walkers, but the living. People.

People like Ed. People like Daryl's family.

And now the men were worried that the group would follow Daryl back to the farm.

"So... We've got regular patrols set up around the house and the field. But either Shane, or myself will always be somewhere in the house. So if he wakes up, you holler for us, alright?" Rick said gently. "We need to know how many of 'em there were, where they were..."

Carol nodded. "I understand. But it will probably be a while; between the concussion, shock, and the fever..."

She was shocked when Rick dropped to his knees in front of her, grabbing her small hands in his larger ones. "Carol... He's gonna be just fine, alright? Hershel knows what he's doin'. I promise you, he's gonna be okay. We just... we just gotta keep the faith, alright?"

Carol was surprised at how much his simple words comforted her, tears coming to her eyes. She could only nod, afraid if she tried to speak, the tears would spill over. But Rick seemed to understand, as he simply laid a soft kiss on her knuckles, before leaving the room.

* * *

"_We know your camp's around here somewhere. C'mon now, you can tell us. We jus' wanna meet the new neighbors, that's all."_

_**Lies**. **Don't make no sense**. "Fuck you."_

_Pain. Lights exploding behind his eyes. _

"_Where the hell is your camp, you redneck hick?!"_

* * *

Carol jerked awake as Daryl's pained cries started up again. Throwing her sewing aside, she ran to the bed, grabbing the washcloth out of the bowl of water.

"Shhh..." She whispered gently, running the washcloth over his face. "It's okay, Daryl. You're safe. It's all over. You're back at the farm now. Everything's gonna be fine."

She continued patting down his face, before moving onto his neck, and his shoulders. He felt a little cooler than he had last time she'd checked him, roughly an hour ago, although not much cooler. Frowning, she reached over and grabbed the thermometer, carefully putting it under his right arm. After a bit, the thing beeped.

102.4. Not great, but an improvement. Better than the 103.9 he'd been at a few hours earlier.

She sighed as she set the thermometer back on the night stand, picking the washcloth up again, and resuming her earlier task, now running the washcloth over the top of his chest.

"The hell ya doin', woman?"

Carol actually yelped, drawing back as if she'd been bitten, her eyes huge. "Daryl?" She said hoarsely.

One of his eyes was open just a sliver, but she nearly laugh for joy at the glare that was still obvious.

"Wha'... Jesus, where the... Shit," He moaned, face tightening in pain.

"Daryl... are you... How are you... Do you need me to do anything?" Carol finally stammered, standing up awkwardly, suddenly uncomfortable with their closeness.

"Find... Shit," He panted, his words only half-intelligible. "Get... Rick."

Nodding -damn, she was supposed to do that anyways, Daryl shouldn't have had to remind her- Carol bolted towards the door, only to come face to face with Rick, who had apparently heard her yelp, and had been coming to investigate.

"He's awake. He wants to talk to you," She said quickly.

* * *

Daryl's head was spinning. Fuck, he hadn't felt so shitty in... well, maybe _ever_, if he was being honest. There wasn't a damn part of his body that didn't ache, either a dull steady throb, or a sharp stabbing.

He knew he was holding on to consciousness by the skin of his teeth. A darkness was already threatening his eyes, and a fog settling around his brain. Damned if even _thinkin_' didn't hurt like a bitch.

"Daryl? Hey, how are ya?"

If his face hadn't felt like ground up hamburger, Daryl would've snorted. "Jus' 'bout... ready for... the dance, Chief," He muttered, feeling pain rushing through his chest with every word. "Don't... got a lotta... Time. The... The kid's... kid's group. 'Bout... fifteen miles out... Tried... Shit," He swore, stopping for a moment, trying to catch his breath. A breath that was proving to be incredibly elusive.

"It's alright, Daryl. Take your time."

Carol. He forced himself to turn his head to the left a bit, catching sight of her hovering. He tried to give her a smile, but gave up after only a few seconds, turning his attention back to the Sheriff's Deputy.

"I tried... leadin' 'em... further out. 'Bout... fifteen... of 'em. Tried... leadin' 'em south. Ran... ran into the... the rest of 'em. Had ta be... at least... thirty... maybe forty."

* * *

_Instantly, Daryl realized his mistake. He'd been so intent on leading the band of stupid assholes away from camp, he'd forgotten what the kid had said 'bout their numbers._

_So he hadn't been paying attention, hadn't even thought about keeping his guard up. So when he suddenly found himself surrounded, he knew he'd screwed up._

_But he wasn't going down without a fight._

_"We need him alive, boys," Somebody called out, as Daryl lashed out at the first unfortunate bastard to come in range of his fists._

_He wasn't sure how much damage he'd inflicted before they'd simply dog-piled on top of him. Never did have much of a head for numbers, after all._

* * *

"I... They wanted... wanted to know... where we... made camp," He panted, yanking himself from the memory. "They... they knew... we had to be... holed up somewhere... somewhere close. Put... two an' two together... figured I musta... been part a the... the group from the bar... they said... Fuck!" The darkness was creeping closer. Fog was starting to settle in. _Not yet_.

"Daryl? Daryl, stay with me, jus' a few more minutes. How'd you get free? They chasin' you?"

"No," He rasped. "Herd of... They were... the blood... 'ttracted... whole damn herd... I... I managed to... cut the ropes... on somethin'... Grabbed my... my knife an'... took out... a few a the ones... the walkers didn't get... 'fore one a 'em... shot me... Was... three feet... in front of him... stupid shit... still only got... my leg..."

Rick sighed, as Daryl's head lolled to the side a bit, muttering something about barn doors, knowing the man had lost consciousness again.

"Well... that's good, right? Maybe they all got... eaten?" Carol said, her voice hesitant.

Rick shook his head. "Can't be sure. If even one a 'em made it back to their camp... We don't know how many men they have. 'Sides, I'm not sure having a herd of Walkers twenty miles from camp is somethin' to celebrate."


	10. Everything You've Been Through

A/N: Alright, so thank you to those of you who reviewed. This chapter is kind of short, but I just wasn't really in the mood to try and make it longer. First half takes place before Daryl got back to camp, second part takes place after. There will be more next chapter, but like I said... Wasn't really feeling it tonight. : (

* * *

When Daryl had come to, the first thing he'd noticed was the uncomfortable pain in his shoulders; second thing he noticed came when he tried to change his position, and found himself unable to.

His eyes flew open, panic setting in, as he realized his arms had been tied above his head, and he was currently dangling off the ground. How far off the ground, he couldn't tell, because the third thing he noticed was that there was something over his eyes.

"Well, good evening, friend."

The voice came from behind him, practically in his ear, and Daryl instinctively shoved away, before letting out a pained grunt as he felt the muscles in his shoulders stretch.

"Hey, now, none a that's necessary. We aren't gonna hurt you none."

"Then lemme down," Daryl grunted, trying to locate the exact position of the voice.

"Alright... We'll let you down... soon as you tell us where you're from."

There. Daryl grabbed hold of the rope with his hands, trying to hold his weight as much as possible, as he lashed out with his feet, a yelp of pain rewarding his efforts.

His satisfaction was short lived. Almost before his feet had even connected, a fist sank into his ribs.

"That wasn't very friendly, boy. We just have a few questions; don't nobody need to get hurt here. You answer our questions, real nice like, and we'll cut you down, give you something to eat... send you on your way."

God, it was hard trying to catch his breath hanging like that. Shit.

"You mus' think I'm stupid or somethin'," He wheezed. "I ain't tellin' you shit!"

He tensed as he heard a sigh, practically in his ear. "I wanted to try and do this the easy way, son. Sorry it's gotta be this way."

Daryl barely had time to process the quiet words, before a booted foot planted itself in his back, secondary pain from his shoulders close on its heels as the blow shot him forward.

He quickly lost track of how many blows fell, and as darkness overtook him again, all he could think of was the hung Walker him and Andrea had seen. Karma was coming back to bite him in the ass; just like the Walker had been, he was more or less a breathing pinata.

A hard blow hit his head, and then he didn't think at all.

Next thing he was aware of was hitting the ground, hard. Dimly, he realized they must've cut him down. He knew he should try and fight, or even run... but every part of his body ached, and his brain couldn't even begin to send the needed signals to make his extremities function.

So he did nothing, as someone dragged him a few feet. Felt himself propped up against something, a tree, judging by the rough feeling against his arms. Felt somebody pull his arms above his head. Felt something wrap around his wrists a few times.

"You gonna join us some time today, son?"

"Gonna... gonna... kill you..." He managed.

He heard the man chuckle. "Really now, boy, there isn't any need for this. We know you must be part of that group from the bar. We just wanna where your camp is, and then this can all be over. We'll patch you up, and send you on your way."

"Fuck you."

"Alright. Have it your way. Jordan, go get me a pair of pliers."

A few moments later, Daryl felt somebody grab his face, holding his head still. As he started to struggle, he heard the man's voice again.

"Really am sorry about this, son."

* * *

"Rick, can I talk to you for a minute?"

Rick looked down, eyes locking on his best friend standing below him. "What's up?"

"You need to come down here," Shane said slowly. "Got somethin' to show ya."

The tone of Shane's voice sent Rick scrambling down the ladder, virtually flying through the barn. "What's up? Everythin' alright?"

Shane only held out his hand. When Rick unsurely held out his own, Shane silently dropped something into his hand.

"Holy shit... Are those..."

Shane nodded, taking a big breath. "Yeah. Followed Daryl's trail... Hell, wasn't that hard. Gotta think nobody's followin' him; left a trail even a blind man would be able to follow."

"So you found out where they had him, I'll assume," Rick said quietly, his stomach churning as he glanced at the three small objects in his hand.

"Yeah. Found 'bout a dozen corpses. An' the tree they musta tied him to. Found a couple knives, a hammer, pair a pliers... an' those," He said, nodding towards Rick's hand. "Figure they musta used the pliers ta pull 'em out."

"Jesus Christ," Rick muttered. "Jus' who the hell are these people?"

Shane shrugged, folding his arms across his chest. "Dunno. Don't really think we wanna know." After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, he added, "So... you gonna give those back to Daryl?"

Rick snorted as he threw the things as far away from as he could. "No. Ain't like Hershel's gonna be able ta put 'em back."

As Shane stalked away towards the camp, Rick made his way back up into the barn.

Trying hard as hell to forget the three blood-covered molars he'd just held in his hand.


	11. I Am Aware Now

A/N: Alright peeps... So. I was very appreciative of the reviews; definitely encouraged me to get this chapter out when I did. Now, that being said... I'm not going to hold chapters for ransom, tell you that I want 'X' amount of reviews per chapter, or anything like that. But I will say this: even short reviews are highlights to my day. I put a lot of time and effort into my stories, and nothing makes me happier than knowing people like it. And it's very disappointing to see that this story has the same amount of reviews over ten chapters, as it does alerts. Fifty people have this story set to get an alert when I post a new chapter. And it has fifty-one reviews. Most of those are from the same four or five people. Again, no ransoming, no demands... I just would like it if y'all considered my point of view. And remember that the more reviews I get, the quicker I get chapters up.

* * *

"Daryl? I brought you some soup," Carol said as she entered the room. She heard a weak grunt as she sat down, setting the bowl on the night stand. "You hungry?"

"Depends… whether… you gonna… feed me 'gain," He grumbled.

Carol frowned. His breathing sounded less labored than it had, but his left eye was fluttering open and closed, and the right seemed to be having problems focusing. She set the back of her hand on his forehead, feeling a small bit of relief at the relative coolness she felt. It wasn't nearly as hot as it had been.

"How's your head feel?"

"Like… Andrea shot… me 'gain… an' didn't miss."

Carol smiled at his comparison. "Alright, I'll have Hershel come up after you're done eating. Now c'mon. I want you to eat at least half of this. You don't eat, and you're gonna end up skinnier than Lori."

Thankfully, he didn't put up much of a fuss this time. The last time, he'd insisted on feeding himself; it'd nearly broken her heart as he'd struggled for almost five minutes. Watching him fumble to hold the spoon, his face spasming in pain as his broken fingers refused to grasp the thin metal utensil, spilling bits of food all over the sheets. Finally, he'd shoved the dish off the bed, angrily telling her he wasn't hungry.

But this time, he settled for glaring with one eye, as she carefully spooned the broth into his mouth.

"Shit!" He cussed, coughing as a small amount of the cough dripped down his chin. "The hell… is that?"

"Chicken broth. Lori made it," Carol said apologetically. "I was tired… took a few minute nap, so she made dinner tonight."

"Guess I… know why Rick's… a damn rail tie. Shit tastes like… ass an' chili powder," He said with a grimace.

Carol chuckled as she gave him another spoonful. "Well, this is all you're gonna be able to get down until…" She paused, before forcing a smile to her face. "The spiciness could help with the infection, I suppose."

She went to give him another mouthful, but stopped at the look in his eye.

"I ain't a damn cripple, lady," He said angrily.

"Daryl… Rick… He told me… Shane found your teeth… I just… Why did they…" she paused, trying to collect her thoughts. "Why didn't you just lie? Tell them we were somewhere else? Tell them you weren't part of our group?

" 'Cause… Screw 'em. That's why," He muttered. " 'Sides… a couple a 'em… looked almost as… bad as me."

"Before, or after the Walkers went through?" She asked, forcing a cheeky tone to her voice, trying to keep the tears from her eyes. "C'mon. You have to eat."

"Like… your food… better."

Carol started. "You… you like my food?"

She almost laughed as he shrugged uncomfortably. "S'not bad," He said awkwardly. "Really like it… when you… cook the… the squirrel an' shrooms… with the rice… Pretty good… Squirrel is… hard to cook…"

She could see his eyes start to droop, as she hastily tried shoving a few more sips of the broth into him.

"Daryl? Just a few more bites, okay? A few more bites, and you can go back to sleep."

But it was already too late. His head rolled to the side, as his eyes slipped shut. She sighed, setting the spoon back in the bowl, laying her head down next to his hand.

"Did he eat anything?"

Carol sighed as Hershel came into her sight, stopping next to the bed as he gently checked Daryl's temperature and pulse, before moving on to check the numerous cuts on his chest.

"Yeah, um… probably half a cup or so before he drifted off. But his eyes were… The left was… twitching, I guess, and the right never focused on anything."

"Well… having difficulty focusing is probably from the concussion. As far as the left… It sustained serious, and repeated trauma. There could be damage to the socket, or even the eye itself. But there's not much I can do either way."

* * *

"How's he doin'?"

Carol glanced up from her book, smiling weakly at Rick. "What are you still doing up? It has to be close to midnight."

Rick sighed. "Yeah. Jus' got off patrol duty. Figured I'd come up here… See how he was doin' before I hit the sack."

"Well, his fever's down, although it spikes every couple of hours. Hershel says it's probably from the infection from his teeth. The broken bones seem to be healing fine, but it's still early. His fingers…" She paused for a moment. "Hershel says… It looks like they… like they were crushed with something. Maybe a rock, or a brick or something."

Rick pursed his lips for a moment, before crossing his arms across his chest. "Shane found where a hammer… same spot where he found his teeth."

"Oh God. Why… Why didn't he tell lead them somewhere else, or tell him he wasn't part of our group?"

Rick shrugged as he sat down. "Probably wouldn't a believed him. As far as lyin'… Hell, can you see Daryl tellin' 'em anything other than where to shove it?" He asked with a chuckle.

Carol glanced at the bed sadly. "No… I can't say that I can. I just… They… _tortured_… him, Rick. I don't understand how people can do that to other people."

"The world's an ugly place, Carol. Hell, it has been. Even before… all of this," He said, waving his hands around the room, "it was ugly. It jus' made it all worse. Used to see some pretty nasty stuff. Even in the small suburb I worked in. Rapes, murders, assaults… Step-fathers molesting their children, parents jus'… torturing their children… Hell, I don't have to tell you what families can be like," He said, giving her a sad, pointed look.

Carol shook her head. "You know… I thought… I used to think that… That my husband 'abused' me. But… looking at Daryl, and… his back, and his feet… His family… _tortured_… him. They… they cut him, and beat him, and… they probably starved him… And God only knows what else. Ed just… smacked me around every once in a while. I can't even begin to imagine what he went through. The… the pain, the humiliation, the… the _loneliness_. Do you know what started all this? He can't read.

"He never went to school. Can you imagine how alone he felt? Never going to school… Said they had no neighbors, so… It was just him, Merle, and his father. A scared little boy. All alone… except for the people who hurt him. Never having anyone to turn to, never having anyone to talk to, to tell him that he didn't deserve what his brother and father did to him, that he was a good boy…"

She shook her head again, smiling through the tears now streaming down her face. "No, Rick. What… What I went through with Ed was just…" She chuckled as she swiped the tears from her cheeks. "Mildly inconvenient. Daryl went through hell. Survived it… Grew up, only to be thrown into this hell we all live in… And then this happens."

Rick sighed, as he stood, and walked over to Carol. "Carol… Whatever Daryl went through –as a kid, and now –doesn't make what your husband did any less horrible. Doesn't change what happened to any of us. A buddy of mine on the squad… My mentor, you could say… He always used to tell me 'jus' because your friend's up to his neck in horse shit, doesn't mean the stuff around yours is chocolate puddin'," He said with a chuckle. "Don't put yourself, or what you've gone through under the rug."


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Alright folks! Loved all the reviews! As a reward for your awesomeness, I present... Another chapter! It's a bit rough, but seeing as how I currently can't breathe because of a crappy chest cold, and allergies... eh. Lol. Pretty good amount of angst in this one, with some Caryl comfort. Little bit more about Daryl's time in captivity, and his childhood. So... ye have been warned, as my sister would say. Thanks for reading, and enjoy! : )

* * *

Carol sighed. "Do we really have to do this right now?" She asked exasperatedly, glaring at Rick and Shane. "He's still got a bit of a fever, and Hershel says he shouldn't be sitting up yet."

Daryl returned her glare with one of his own. "Ain't got time to argue, lady," He snapped, before turning his attention back to the map. "This is where I ran into the first group," He said, pointing to a spot near the quarry. "Musta lead 'em at least a mile or so, 'fore I ran in ta the rest of 'em. Tried keepin' south, so musta hit group two near there," He pointed to another location. "Where'd ya say ya found 'em?"

Shane –who had been standing behind Rick, who was on sitting the bed –leaned over Rick, peering at the map. "Found the clearin' 'bout… there. So ya actually pulled 'em 'bout two an' a half miles. Not too bad."

"Yeah but that makes it… what… 'bout… eighteen, twenty miles from here?"

"Pretty damn close," Shane said with a sigh. "Which means that herd could be on our doorstep any time. Dependin' on which way they headed… Which direction the Walkers come from?"

Daryl shrugged awkwardly, wincing at the pain in his shoulder. "I uh… I dunno. Kept me blindfolded most the time. Couldda dropped from the sky for all I know."

"Know how many of 'em there were?"

"Dunno. 'Nuff to take down a group a thirty or so guys with some serious fire power."

"So a lot more than fourteen a us could handle with huntin' rifles, an' pistols. An' with all the damn critters Hershel's got 'round here… Hell, man, we's jus' ringin' the god damn dinner bell."

"Alright, that's enough!" Carol said angrily. "Daryl's told you everything he knows; he needs to rest. Now," She snapped when Shane opened his mouth to speak. "Both of you: out. I won't repeat myself."

She kept her composure, glaring at the two men as they left. As soon as the door was closed, she turned to look back at Daryl. She expected to see anger, but was surprised to see sadness.

"If we have ta leave… Hell, I can barely sit up; no way with these hands… I ain't gonna be able to drive. Shit, it'd take an hour jus' ta get me in a damn vehicle," He muttered. "Those two decide to up an' leave… No way I'm catchin' that bus."

Carol's mouth dropped open in shock as she sat down next to him on the bed. "Daryl, that's… that's crazy! They'd never leave you behind! They need you!"

He scoffed. "Yeah? For what?"

She chuckled. "Daryl… All of us? We're from the city. We can't hunt… Most of us can't even tell you which direction 'north' is. If you put any of us out in the woods without you? We'd be dead within three days."

"That ain't true. Rick an' Shane know their way 'round," He mumbled, pointedly not looking at her.

"Really? Then how come before you and your brother showed up, we were eating nothing but canned vegetables for a month? Neither of them know how to hunt. We don't know how to find water, or shelter out there in the wilderness."

Daryl looked up at her suspiciously. "For real?"

"Really, Daryl. We need you. There's no way the group would leave you behind. And I wouldn't let 'em even if they did try."

"You uh… I ain't gonna be able to um… hold a pencil or nothin' for a while," Daryl said awkwardly, after a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. "Was thinkin'… I'm gonna go nuts sittin' in this damn bed, jus' starin' at the walls… Thought maybe… maybe you could uh… If you was bored… If you wanted ta, I mean… Ya know what, never mind," He grumbled, turning his head away from her.

Carol smiled, knowing what he wanted, what he couldn't bring himself to ask. "You know," She began, moving over to her chair, and picking up her book. "I was thinking maybe I could read this out loud… Might help me understand it a bit more."

He glared at her suspiciously for a few seconds, before sighing. "If you don't understand it, what makes ya think I will?"

"It's a story about a man who reminds me of you. The man is a hunter, a scout… a survivalist. And he's always helping people," She said quietly. "It's called 'Last Of The Mohicans."

"Hell, ain't like I got nothin' better to do. Probably gonna fall asleep though," He warned her. "Sounds like kinda borin'."

Carol smiled. "Well, if you get tired, you just go ahead and close your eyes."

* * *

Carol wasn't sure who had fallen asleep first, her or Daryl. She remembered making it about a quarter of the way through the book, but that was it.

She shifted uncomfortably in the stiff, high backed chair, wondering what had woke her up. Hearing nothing, she closed her eyes again, and was drifting back off, when she heard it.

"Daryl? You alright?" She called quietly, fumbling for the matches to light the candle. "Daryl?"

"I'm… I'm fine. Jus'… go back ta sleep," Came his weak reply.

When she lit the candle, she was shocked to see Daryl's tear covered face. "Daryl, what's wrong?!" She cried, moving over to the bed, and kneeling down next to it.

"Nothin'," He snapped, turning his head away from her. "Said I'm fine."

"You're not fine, Daryl. What happened? Your leg hurt? Your head?"

"No! I said leave me 'lone!"

"Not 'til you tell me what's wrong," Carol said firmly, laying her hand on his arm gently. "Just tell me what happened. Did you have a nightmare?"

The silence stretched on for what seemed like hours. Carol was getting ready to speak again, when his quiet, broken voice stopped her.

"S'the dark," He mumbled. "Woke up, an'… It was dark, an'… I couldn't see. Thought I was… I couldn't see."

Carol sighed as she moved to sit next to him on the bed. "You thought you were blindfolded again?"

"He… he said he was gonna take my eye. He'd already… already busted it up real bad," the younger man said quietly. "Said it wasn't gonna be no more use ta me anyways. I heard him… Heard him pull his knife out… But 'fore he could… The screamin' started. The Walkers tore through there… I managed… managed ta work my hands free a the rope on the tree… an' I started crawlin', still blindfolded… All I could think was… I was gonna crawl straight into a Walker. Screamin' all 'round, and gunfire… An' I couldn't see nothin'. Then when… when I managed to cut the rope 'round my wrists… Pulled the blindfold off… An' I still couldn't see outta my left eye. I thought… Thought maybe he'd cut it out, an' I was so whacked I didn't 'member it."

"That ever happen before?" Carol asked softly. "You being hurt, and not remembering it?"

"Sometimes. Like a uh… Like when my daddy went after me with a knife the las' time… Was 'bout… fourteen, I think? He'd… I was bleedin' real bad, an' I uh…I ran upstairs ta my room… locked the door. I put a clean shirt on, 'cause the one I was wearin'… It was jus' covered in blood, ya know? Then when… When Merle got home from the bar… I was jus' sittin' on the bed… an' he asked me what'd happened ta my feet… I looked down… an' that was when I realized… when I realized…"

"He'd cut four of your toes off," Carol finished when Daryl stopped, unable or unwilling to continue.

"Yeah. Couldn't walk right for 'bout a week."


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Alrighty, so thank you so much to the four people who reviewed, and thanks to those of you who read. Fairly quickly, I'll catch up to the actual plot line of season 2 (how, I'm not sure yet lol, but I'll figure it out), and it will probably follow through the winter months before season 3. I'm not sure yet if I plan on taking this through season 3, or if I'll wrap it up, and start another. Added note: Because I am such a review junkie, I'm going to plug my own stories here, and say I would really appreciate anyone who went and checked them out. I have a few one-shots, and two other stories, all of which focus on Daryl, and all but one focus on Caryl. I currently have an OFC fic going, based off the premise of Norman Reedus's interview about how he thinks any sort of relationship Daryl has would be, and then another story focusing on Daryl and Carol a few years after the events of season 3. You can check those out on my profile if y'all really love me. : ) Anyways, thanks for reading my little rant, and thanks for reading; special uber thanks to anyone who reviews. : )

* * *

"I just want you to know, I strongly disagree with this," The old man said, for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Daryl grunted, partially in anger, partially in pain, as he looked over his shoulder at Hershel. "An' I jus' want ya ta know that I could give a shit what ya think 'bout it," He snapped.

"Easy, Daryl. Imma be pissed if ya knock me down the damn stairs," Shane said warningly, as the two carefully started maneuvering down the staircase.

"Yeah, 'cause I'd be jus' thrilled 'bout it," Daryl retorted, face tight with pain.

"Young man, you do realize that you shouldn't even be sitting up yet, much less moving around?"

"Doc, if I spend… one more… damn minute in that… damn bed… Ain't nobody gonna… make it… outta this damn house… alive," Daryl bit out, pain flaring through his ribs. Hell, he was starting to think twice about the whole plan. It'd seemed easy, smart… even totally necessary, when he'd been laying in bed for the fifth day in a row. But as the damn fool excuse for an ex-cop man-handled him down the last of the stairs, he was starting to rethink the whole thing. Already the pain from his broken leg had him gritting his teeth, which sent waves of anguish through his jaw, which in turn sent agony coursing through his splitting head. And he wasn't even halfway to the damn door yet. _Shit_.

"Daryl, it ain't too late to turn 'round, man," Shane said quietly, interrupting Daryl's thoughts, as the ex-deputy stopped to catch his breath. "It's same 'mount a distance back ta the bedroom as it is ta the porch. Otherwise, we jus' gonna have ta do this all over 'gain later, ta get ya back upstairs. Ain't nobody gonna think any less a ya if ya wanna turn 'round."

Daryl snorted. "Ain't goin' back upstairs. I'll sleep on the damn porch, or the RV. I wasn't kiddin' 'bout killin' somethin' if I have ta stare at those damn walls 'gain. I ain't goin' back."

"What in the hell do you think you're doing?!"

All three of the gathered men cringed like little boys with their hands caught in the cookie jar at Carol's sharp voice. She was standing in the archway, arms folded across her chest, her face positively murderous as she glared at the three of them.

"Goin' outside," Daryl finally mumbled, bracing himself for inevitable blow up. He wasn't disappointed.

"Are you… Did…" Finally, she turned her glare to Hershel. "And _you_ went along with this?"

"I told him I thought it was a poor choice, but he was insistent," Hershel said with a sigh.

"And… you?" She seethed, fixing Shane with a steely-eyed look.

Daryl had to admit, it was almost worth facing Carol's wrath just to see the look on Shane's face. It almost reminded him of the look on Carl's face when his parents had caught him with the gun after he'd been shot.

"Well, I uh… I… I figured I was better off uh… helpin' him, makin' sure he didn't hurt himself," The other man stuttered.

"Oh, you have _got_ to be kidding me. Daryl, do you realize that six days ago you were _unconscious_, with a 105 degree _fever_? That you have a… a gunshot wound, a broken leg, a broken arm, a dislocated shoulder? Is _any_ of this ringing a bell with you?"

"I ain't arguin' 'bout this, woman," Daryl growled. "I'm goin' outside, ya hear? Let's go, baldy."

"Daryl -!"

"I said, this ain't up for debate! Now either ya get outta the way, an' let Deputy Do Good here take me outside, or I'm doin' it on my own!"

Shane looked warily from Carol to Daryl, clearly torn on what to do. "Carol…"

"Fine!" She snapped. "Go ahead! Kill yourself for all I care! Go!"

Shane let out a deep breath as Carol stomped off towards the kitchen. "Thanks for throwin' me under the bus, man," He grumbled, as the two of them started moving again.

"Hey, I'm injured. 'Sides… Time for ya ta take one for the team. Tired a takin' all the hits."

"Gee, Daryl, ya know, it's jus' so unfortunate that Andrea only knicked ya."

"Ha ha. Let's go, baldy."

* * *

God it was nice being outside again. Even being stuck in the chair, with his feet propped up on the stool, and blankets wrapped around him, it was still nice.

He did grimace at the flowery quilt wrapped around his legs, and the bright baby blue one wrapped around his shoulders. That had been Hershel's one rule, that he keep wrapped up. Ol' geezer had probably picked the blankets out special, to make up for the ear-chewing Carol had given him.

Really though… it was kinda nice, he had to admit. Even before the world had ended, he'd never had much more than a throw rug, or a sheet for a blanket. Probably the first time in his whole life he'd actually had a nice blanket. He was starting to understand what people meant when they said 'curl up in a soft blanket, and forget the world'.

"Daryl?"

He opened one eye, glaring up at Carol.

"What, ya come out here ta yell at me 'gain?" He grumbled, closing his eye again.

"No… No, I came out here to apologize," The older woman said with a self-deprecating chuckle as she sat down on the stool, careful to avoid his feet.

His eyes flew open, as he stared at her suspiciously. "Ya what?"

"I'm sorry, Daryl. I… I didn't even think how hard it must be for you to be stuck inside."

Carol felt fluttering in her chest as Daryl gave her a small smile. "Probably the longest I been in a house since I was old 'nuff ta walk."

"Well, knowing you, probably a few hours would've broken that record, hmm?"

"Probably. Hell, I even used ta sleep outside as a kid. Spent more nights out than in. Our house didn't have air conditioning… It'd get real hot in there in the summer, so… me an' Merle used ta sleep in this ol' tree fort we'd built in the woods out back a our house."

"What about the winter?" Carol asked softly. The look in her eye nearly killed Daryl, the… the damn _pity_ that was practically oozing from her.

"Why ya doin' this, Carol? An' don't… don't give me that bullshit 'bout showin' me what kinda man I am," He said quietly. "I _know_ what kinda man I am. I know _who_ I am."

"Is it really so hard for you to believe that I care?"

He laughed quietly, glancing down at his broken, destroyed fingers. "Yeah… Yeah, it is."


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: Alrighty, so here's the next chapter. Thanks to everyone who reviewed on the last one, and special thanks to those of you who went and checked out my other stories. This chapter is a little short, but I figure I packed a lot of angst into it, so it all evens out lol. Thanks for reading, and enjoy. : )

* * *

Carol sighed. "Why? Why is it so hard to believe, Daryl?"

" 'Cause ya can't _care_, woman. Ya don't even know me. Ya don't know the shit I've done," He said quietly.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't care, Daryl. One story to prove that you're somebody I shouldn't care about," She snapped.

She waited, while Daryl chewed his lip for a few minutes, before he took a deep breath, apparently resigning himself.

" 'Cause I ain't a good guy. When I was younger… I used ta run with Merle an' his gang, an'… The shit I did… I… I used ta help him… I… Jesus," He said quietly, hanging his head in shame, and Carol could tell he was fighting back tears.

"Help him with what, Daryl?" Carol asked gently, laying her hand on his knee.

"I… He was a dealer… an' when people would… when they'd owe him money, we'd… We'd go out, an'… when we'd find him… Merle would… he'd jus' beat the piss outta 'em, ya know? Made me tag along... said it'd make a man outta me... This one guy… He jus' got carried away… damn fool had racked up four grand worth a X, an'… we drove out ta his cabin in the woods… He kept whinin' 'bout makin' child support payments, an' his exes an' shit… Merle… he'd had his eye on this guy's truck. Tol' him he'd take his truck, an' that'd clear the payments. But… the guy threw a fit… Said if we did… he'd go ta the cops. That he'd tell 'em everythin'… So… Merle uh… He beat the guy ta death. An' I just stood there an' watched. Didn't… didn't try ta help the guy, didn't… didn't try ta stop Merle… I jus' stood there," He finished quietly, a few tears trailing down his face.

Carol hesitated for a moment, before asking, "How old were you?"

Daryl shook his head, wiping his face with the sleeve of his shirt. "I dunno… Twelve, maybe thirteen. I uh… Shit, woman, ya know what's pathetic? I dunno when my damn birthday is. I know I'm 'bout thirty three, give or a take a year, but I got no idea when my stupid birthday is."

Carol's eyebrows raised a bit. "You don't know when your birthday is? You never…" She stopped herself, knowing how stupid it was that she actually felt shock. Of course his family never gave him a birthday party. Hell, he probably wouldn't have appreciated the 'attention' he would've gotten if they had remember.

"Merle… he uh… he used to say that he knew I was born in sometime in November, 'cause…"

"Because what, Daryl?" She asked quietly,

He chuckled through his tears, finally meeting her gaze as he said, " 'Cause he knew … it was Valentine's day when my ol' man beat an' an' raped her so bad that Merle had ta drive her ta the hospital. Said he… he found her in bed… Blood poolin' 'tween her legs… They went ta stay with her ma 'till I was born. After that… Ma got her tubes tied, he said. So I was fuckin' Valentine's Day rape baby. 'Cause nothin' says 'I love ya' on Valentine's day like a beatin' an' rape, huh?"

* * *

Carol had held Daryl for hours, until the broken man had finally fallen asleep. After gently disentangling herself, she'd sat down on the porch, and sobbed herself.

She'd sobbed for the little boy who'd had to watch his brother beat a man to death. For the little boy who'd been told he was the child of a vicious rape. That it was his fault his mother had had her tubes tied.

She couldn't stand to look at him. Every time she glanced over at him, all she could see was the boy he had been. The boy who's father had purposely cut off his toes… The boy who had been whipped so viciously that his back looked like something out of a horror movie. The boy's who'd been beaten, and abused his entire life. The boy who'd grown up hearing how worthless he was, who had turned into a man incapable of accepting affection.

She kept thinking back to that night after he'd fallen down the cliff. When she'd taken him the food. How he'd pulled away. Then, she'd thought it'd been her. That he'd pulled away because he'd found her repulsive, or something. Now she realized that he'd been scared. That some part of his mind thought that he was about to be hit.

She hadn't really dissected what he'd said that fateful morning; she'd heard the words, but hadn't really thought about them. She'd been so worried about where he'd went, that she hadn't processed what he'd said.

Now though, she felt a bout of hysteria building inside her chest. A virgin. He was a _virgin_. Either because of the shame of his scars, or his fear of intimacy, or because he'd felt he wasn't worthy of a relationship.

God it was…

_God._

* * *

"So how's Daryl doing?" Lori asked quietly.

Rick sighed as he wrapped his arms around his wife. "Physically… Well, he's healing. Actually, Hershel said he's never seen someone heal as fast as Daryl is," He said with a chuckle.

"And… mentally?"

"I just… I dunno, Lori. Those people… they burnt his feet. Pulled out his teeth. Crushed his fingers with a hammer. Hung him from a tree, and pounded the hell out of him. On top of everything else he's been through. But he's holdin' it all in, an' that… That is dangerous. All that jus' builds. An' eventually, it has ta come out somewhere. An' the way Carol's been pushin' him lately… It's a damn powder keg, Lori. An' Carol's playin' with matches. When –an' it's not if, but when –that spark catches… Hell, none a us are gonna wanna be there. Daryl… He's got a lifetime of anger boilin' inside a him. An' when it boils over… I dunno, Lori. It's a bad situation."

"Did you talk to Carol?"

Rick shook his head as he released her, dropping down on the bed and running his hands through his hair. "No. I... I didn't know what to say," He admitted.

It was Lori's turn to sigh as she sat down next to him. "I'll try talking to her in the morning."


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: So special thank you's to all my amazing reviewers, and thanks to everyone who read, or added me to their lists or alerts. : )

* * *

"How you holding up?"

Carol turned, giving Lori a tired smile. "I'm fine," She said quietly, resuming cutting up the vegetables for the soup she was making.

"And how's Daryl doing?"

"Fine. Hershel says he's healing fast; another two or three weeks, he can start putting light pressure on his leg again."

Lori hesitated as the older woman turned her attention away from her again. In the cold light of day, her suggestion of her talking to Carol suddenly didn't seem like such a bright idea any more.

"Something on your mind?"

Lori took a deep breath, avoiding the other woman's eyes. "Yeah, um... I was... I was talking to Rick last night."

Carol let out a small laugh. "While it's nice to know that people still talk, that's not exactly newsworthy."

"Well... We were talking about Daryl."

Instantly, the knife stopped, as Carol's laughing look turned to a glare. "Why?" She asked stonily.

"Well... Rick's a bit concerned about... Well, about you pushing him," Lori said finally, resting her hands on the counter.

Carol scoffed. "What, you think I don't realize that this is my fault? Think I don't realize that if I _hadn't_ pushed him, he wouldn't have been tortured?" She demanded.

"No, no, no! That's not what I meant," Lori said quickly. "It's just... Carol, Daryl is... Well, to use Rick's words, he's a powder keg. I mean... Think for a minute, Carol. He's probably never talked to anybody about the hell he went through as a child, and then what he went through with those men... And all of that's just... just _festering_ inside of him. And with him being injured... Maybe now isn't the best time to be pushing him to talk about it," She finished hesitantly.

Carol stared at her incredulously for a few minutes, before finally speaking.

"Are you... are you serious right now?" She hissed. "You, with your... with your _perfect_ life... and you're going to sit there, and tell me that... You can't even _begin_ to comprehend what Daryl's been through. All you damn people care about is that he keeps you fed."

"Carol -!"

"Shut up! Just... Just shut up!" Carol snapped, slamming her small fists down on the counter. "You have no idea what years of abuse can do to a person! You don't have a damn clue!"

"Uh... am I interrupting?"

Both women spun around, shooting daggers at Glen.

"Um... yeah, I'll uh... I'll just come back later," The young Asian said nervously, backing away.

As soon as he was out of sight, Carol turned her attention back to Lori.

"I'm not talking about this. So you go back and tell Rick that he needs to stop gossiping," She said sharply, before turning her back to the younger woman.

* * *

"How you feeling?"

Daryl cracked open his good eye, glaring up against the afternoon sun. "Bored outta my damn mind," He muttered, closing his eye again, unable to look at Carol. He couldn't believe he'd spilled his guts to her the previous night; hell, he'd cried like some sort a little pussy. Good thing Merle wasn't around; wouldda kicked his damn ass six ways from Sunday... then he wouldda gotten _pissed_. Christ Almighty, and damn it all to hell.

"I brought you some soup."

_Ugh_. His stomach started rolling at the thought of the last soup she'd brought him. His face must've shown his distaste, because he heard her chuckle.

"Don't worry; I made it this time. No chili powder, I promise. You hungry?"

He grunted, and opened his eyes again. "Could stand ta eat." Truth was, he was hungrier than a bear after a long winter. "But I'm feedin' my damn self."

He was surprised when she didn't argue, and simply set the bowl in his lap, staring at him expectantly, those gray eyes of hers watching him like a hawk. So biting back a grimace, he forced his aching fingers to grab hold of the spoon -_and damn the vet to all nine levels of hell for having the thinnest damn spoons ever known to man_ -and lift it to his mouth.

"Ain't too bad," He said after taking a swallow. To be honest, it was pretty damn good. "Should keep Lori outta the kitchen; sure I ain't the only one who'd appreciate it."

He didn't miss the way her eyes narrowed at his words, or the stony tone in her voice as she replied, "Don't think you'll have to worry about that any time too soon."

"Why?" He couldn't resist asking. "You an' her go at it?"

"Where'd you hear the story about the Cherokee Rose?"

Her question came out of nowhere. He knew she was avoiding his own question, but supposed it probably wasn't any of his damn business to push her on it.

"My ma tol' it to me," He said after a minute. "Her grandpa was half Cherokee. Guess he tol' her. After my ol' man would... after he'd get done with us, she used ta come in ta my room... Tell me all these Indian folk stories. Kinda like that book ya read the other night."

"Speaking of night... how'd you sleep out here?"

He shrugged, swallowing another spoonful of food before answering, "Better than sleepin' in the damn house."

"You didn't get cold?"

He scoffed. "Ya kiddin'? These blankets are better than any sleepin' bag I ever had. Hell, warmer than most _jackets_. Like furnaces or somethin'. But uh... ya didn't have ta sleep out here too, ya know. I wouldda been fine," He mumbled. In truth, he'd felt like shit when he'd woke up; seeing her all curled up on the stairs, blanket wrapped around her shoulders – probably had Hershel or Patricia to thank for that – practically laying at his damn feet.

She laughed softly. "It was actually kind of nice. Although I'll admit, the stairs probably weren't the best choice," She said ruefully, rubbing at the back of her neck.

"M'sorry."

"Why? Isn't your fault."

He snorted. "Like hell it ain't. I don't need a damn baby-sitter. Hell, ya really think walkers are gonna jus' go straight by the camp, an' come up here? An' what the hell would ya do if they did?"

"You're probably right," She admitted quietly. "But what if you'd needed something? I'm not gonna wake up, and find you unconscious on the floor because nobody was out here, and you needed something."

"I don't _need_ nothin'. An' if I wanted somethin' bad enough, pretty damn sure I could wait for somebody ta wake up. Ya don't need ta take care a me, woman. I can take care a damn self."

"Not with that leg, you can't. Now eat your food; you've barely eaten anything the past few days, and I'm not going to have you pass out on me because you're too damn stubborn for your own good."


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Alright so this chapter is very choppy, I'll admit. I really didn't like writing it, but it had to be written, and certain things had to be said to move the story along, so... Yeah. Choppy, choppy chapter. But again, the story is going to start picking up the pace, and skipping ahead a little bit, so y'all have that to look forward to. Thanks to everyone who's reading, and special thanks to those of you who've reviewed. : )

* * *

"So what's the verdict, doc?"

Carol stared nervously at Hershel as he straightened himself out, taking a step back from Daryl.

"Well... the good news is, you're a fast healer; both your leg and your wrist are healing good. As long as you don't push it, you'll probably be up and moving in a week or two. There's still some swelling in your shoulder though, which concerns me. A simple dislocation, the swelling should've been gone by now."

Daryl gave the man a dark grin. "Doc, that shoulder's been outta socket more often than it ain't; I ain't too concerned 'bout it. What 'bout my eye?"

Hershel sighed. "I'm afraid that you'll probably never regain full vision; with the damage you sustained... well, I'll be honest, son, it's a miracle you can see at all. Far as I can tell, it looks like the socket was nearly crushed. Even if I had all the tools I needed, it wouldn't be a certain thing."

"It gonna get worse?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry, but I just don't know."

Carol took a deep breath as she sat on the stool next to Daryl's feet. "Well," She said slowly, "At least it's not all bad news."

Daryl snorted. "Oh yeah, it's just great. Gonna be half blind for the rest a what's gonna probably be a short miserable life half-blind. Jus' damn peachy," He muttered, picking at the blanket with his fingers.

Carol sighed as she reached out, and set her hand on his. "Don't do that," She said softly. "You're just gonna hurt your fingers worse."

Daryl yanked his hand away roughly. "What's it matter, huh?" He demanded coldly. "Ain't gonna be any use ta me anyways. Can't see, which means I can't track no more. Can't hunt. Imagine I'll be goin' the way of my big brother once Rick or Shane finds out."

For the first time in a long time, Carol felt anger building inside her chest. "That's enough!" She barked. She ignored the surprised – and maybe a bit scared – look that flashed across Daryl's face, and continued, "They've never done anything to hurt you, Daryl. Now I know it's hard for you to accept that some people might not be out to hurt you, but you don't give either of those men enough credit! Shane nearly sprained his ankle again, helping you down those damn stairs. Rick came up every few hours to check and see how you were doing while you were unconscious. Just like he did when Andrea shot you. They didn't have to do that. If they only valued you for your hunting skills, you wouldn't be here right now. Think about it, Daryl: nobody's asked you to bring anything back lately, have they? Hershel's got enough food here to feed a small army. You are a member of this group. People care about you, they worry about you, and they value your opinion," She finished quietly.

Daryl glared at her for a few moments. "Right. They 'value' my opinions. Jesus, woman, what the hell's wrong with ya? Ya really that stupid?" He spat.

Carol stood, returning his glare with one of her own. "Alright. Fine. You wanna sit out here on this damn porch, moping around, telling yourself how worthless you are, and how nobody cares for you... Be my damn guest. But I'm not gonna sit here and listen to it."

* * *

"Uh... Hey, Daryl?"

Daryl turned his glare onto the small boy standing next to him. "What?" He barked.

Carl shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. "I um... Well, I found some cards in the house, and I figured... well, you must be getting kinda bored out here, just sitting all day... So I was wondering if maybe you could teach me some card games."

Daryl stared at the kid in amazement for a few minutes, before snorting. "I ain't got no card games ta teach ya that ya damn mother would approve of."

To his amazement, the twelve year old grinned as he plopped down on the stool next to Daryl's feet. "I know. I figure you're the only one who can teach me, _and_ tell my mom to leave us alone if she comes yelling."

* * *

Carol was shocked when she heard laughter coming from the porch. It'd been a few hours since her explosion, and she'd avoided the porch like the plague, even taking the extreme step of exiting the backdoor, and walking all the way around the house to get to the camp.

But as she'd come in to ask Hershel if she could borrow an egg, she'd heard laughter, a sound so foreign lately that she almost didn't recognize it at first. Glancing out the dining room window, she was astonished by what she saw.

Andrea, T-Dog, Glen, Maggie, Dale, and Carl were all sitting around a small table propped up in front of Daryl, everyone holding cards. On closer inspection, she saw a small pile of candy, and assorted junk food sitting in the middle of the table.

_Poker_, she realized after a moment. They were playing _poker_.

"They been out there almost two hours now."

Carol startled at Rick's quiet voice behind her, spinning around quickly, and her hand flying to her mouth in shock.

"Oh, I didn't know you were in here," She said a little breathlessly, a small chuckle escaping her lips.

Rick smiled. "Came lookin' for Carl. Seen 'em all out there... Well, I didn't have the heart to break it up. Even though Lori will probably have kittens if she finds out I let Daryl teach him poker," He added with a chuckle. When Carol bit her lip hesitantly, he asked, "Somethin' on your mind?"

"Yeah..." She said, taking a deep breath. "Daryl um... He thinks you or Shane are going to leave him behind."

Rick frowned, brows furrowing in confusion. "Leave him... are we goin' somewhere, an' somebody forgot to tell me?"

"What? Oh, no, I didn't mean like... He just... He thinks that his... his place here, in the group... is conditional, based on what he can do for the group. Now that he's laid up with his injuries..." Her voice trailed off unsurely.

"What?" Rick repeated, astonishment crossing his face. "Why would he..." He stopped himself before he even finished the question, realizing exactly how stupid of a question it was. "Alright," He said with a sign. "I'll talk to him."

* * *

Rick grinned as he plopped down in a chair across from Daryl, the others long since retired for the night, leaving Daryl alone with his new horde of goodies.

"Did you really fleece all that from my son?" He asked with a good-natured chuckle.

Daryl returned the grin, but Rick could tell the man was on edge, as he said, "Ain't my fault ya never taught ya boy the finer points ta life."

Rick forced himself to keep a light tone to his voice. "Yeah, I'm sure his mom doesn't share your opinions on 'finer points'. How you holdin' up?"

The other man snorted loudly. "Half blind, can't walk, can't hold a gun... I'm doin' jus' peachy, Deputy, how 'bout yourself?"

Rick sighed sadly. "Daryl... I uh... Look, I know how hard it is. How useless you must be feelin' right now. But you'll be back on your feet in no time. Which is good, 'cause we really need you up and movin'. You got no idea how hard it is with you bein' all laid up."

There was no mistaking the incredulous look on the other man's face. "Right. Sure y'all are jus' dyin' out there without the hick ta take care a ya," Daryl scoffed.

Rick sat back in the chair, arms folding across his chest as he spoke.

"Daryl... look, I ain't stupid. I know ya ain't never had it easy. An' I know I haven't done anything to make you trust me. Hell, after what I did to your brother... Well, let's be honest: you had every right to shoot me then and there. If you'd pulled on me, instead of T-Dog... I probably would've let you kill me. But you didn't. An' you've stuck with us this long. Why you have, I don't have the first clue. But ya did. Hell, half a us wouldn't even _be_ here if you hadn't stayed. I don't think you realize jus' how much a part a this group you are.

"I don't _need_ you here, Daryl. This group doesn't _need_ you. We _want_ you. An' yeah, you've got skills that help us out, but that ain't the only reason. Hell, if we're bein' honest with each other, if you base our value to the group off of our skills, you're the _only_ one here who is needed.

"Now look... I ain't gonna tell you how to live your life. That ain't my place. An' I can't tell ya what to think. But before I go, I jus' want you to think 'bout somethin'.

"Despite what you think 'bout me, or anybody else... Did ya ever stop to think how ya make Carol feel, when ya sit there an' tell her that nobody here cares 'bout ya? After she's spent a week an' a half takin' care a ya, playin' at bein' your nurse? An' then you turn right 'round an' tell her that nobody wants you. Nobody needs you. I've seen her; I've talked to her, an' I gotta tell ya, Daryl... You're jus' 'bout breakin' the woman's heart. Jus' a little somethin' for ya ta consider."


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Yay for another chapter! I was kinda stuck on this one the past few days, but in another epic loss with insomnia, I think I came up with a good way to move this along and everything. So... yay for me?

* * *

Despite what she'd said, Carol couldn't help herself as she walked up the stairs to the porch, sitting down on the porch swing.

Even in the dark, she knew Daryl was awake, just from the way his body had tensed as she approached.

"How you feeling?" She asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Like a damn fool," He grunted, picking at the blanket. "I uh... Sorry I..."

Carol stopped him, laying a hand on his arm, giving him a gentle smile. "I know, Daryl."

He sighed, and Carol could tell that whatever was on his mind, it'd been eating at him for a while. But she was tired of dragging everything out of him; if he wanted to talk, fine, but she wasn't going to pull his fingernails to get him to talk to her.

"Never tol' ya... I'm sorry. 'Bout what happened up at camp. Stormin' off like that. Throwin' a damn fit."

Carol forced herself to chuckle, as she reached out, and patted his thigh. "Well, that's one nice thing about your leg being broken... No stomping away now."

"Ya know... ya gotta be one a the craziest damn women I ever met," He grumbled, giving her a sideways glance.

"I doubt you've met enough women to make that comparison."

It was his turn to chuckle. "Gotta point there. Any word on what they're gonna do 'bout the kid?"

"Not yet. Rick's calling for a vote tomorrow. Wants all of us to have a say in it," Carol said quietly, feeling her stomach twisting into knots, uncomfortable with the thought that a young man's life was in her hands. "I don't know... I know you talked to him, and I know you think he's dangerous... But he's still just a _boy_, Daryl. He can't be more than a few years older than Carl. A few years younger than Glen."

Daryl snorted. "Y'all keep sayin' that like it's supposed ta mean somethin' that he's young. Like we jus'... forgive him all his sins, 'cause he's under eighteen. Y'all jus' keep seein' him as some sorta lost puppy," He said quietly, staring out into the star-filled sky. "But I'm tellin' ya... this kid is bad news."

"Is he? Or are we killing him because of what his group has done?"

"He went 'long with everythin' the rest a those boys did. That makes him jus' as guilty. Problem is, y'all keep complicatin' everythin'. Lettin' his age get in the way a thinkin' straight. He stood there... an' _watched_... while his friends had their way with a couple a girls Sophia's age. An' I think he did a hell of a lot more than watch, but even if he didn't... even if he stood by the sidelines, an' never lifted a damn finger... He's jus' as responsible for what happened. He didn't hurt 'em, but he didn't help 'em neither. That the type a kid ya want runnin' 'round here? Hell, even Merle wouldda hated the kid; my brother was a lotta things... Ain't gonna deny that. But he ain't never used force ta get his way with a woman. He ain't ever... he hates baby-rapers almost as much as he hates colored folk," He added with a sad chuckle. "So think 'bout that... Y'all built my brother up in ta some sorta monster. An' I ain't sayin' he ain't... But even he wouldn't a done what this kid did. Even _Merle_ wouldn't a stood there an' watched while a bunch a full grown men had their way with a couple a kids."

Carol felt her stomach roiling as she absorbed what he'd said. The fact that there were people out there capable of hurting children like that.

"Ya know... Sometimes, I get ta thinkin' 'bout... what people do ta each other... I mean, 'fore all this went down... You'd see it all the time on the news, an' shit. People rapin' an' killin' 'lil kids... Husbands beatin' their wives an' kids," He said with a pointed glance at her, before continuing, "An'... Nobody doin' anythin' 'bout it. Everybody jus'... turnin' the other way, pretendin' not ta see it. Like if they buried they heads in the sand deep 'nough, it wasn't happenin'. An' I think 'bout that... An' I get ta wonderin' if maybe... We ain't better off now," He finished quietly.

Carol wasn't sure what to say to that, so she stayed silent.

* * *

"Hey, Daryl!" Carl called out excitedly, racing ahead of Glen and Maggie. "Daryl!"

The older man rolled his eyes, as Carl raced up onto the porch, practically bouncing in excitement.

"Ya know, las' time ya were this excited, ya mama gave me hell for 'bout an hour," He grunted.

Carl ignored that, as he waited for Glen and Maggie. "Guess what Glen and Maggie got!"

"An itch they can't scratch?" He chuckled at the perplexed look on the boy's face, and the blush growing on Glen's. "Never mind, kid. What the hell ya got 'hind ya back, China Man?"

* * *

Carol was busily pinning the laundry up on the line, when she felt a light tap on her shoulder. Startled, she spun around, dropping the pair of jeans she'd been holding onto the ground, and nearly falling over herself. When she saw who was standing behind her, she nearly fell over again.

"Daryl?!"

The hunter grinned at her, balancing precariously on a pair of crutches. "Whaddya think? Glen an' Maggie found 'em in town, 'long with some sorta brace thing... Hershel Jerry-rigged a cast sorta thing... Said as long as I take it easy, I can start movin' 'round again."

Carol couldn't help herself as she threw her arms around Daryl's neck, laughing for joy.

"Whoa, woman!" Daryl exclaimed, as the two of them started rocking. "I ain't real sure 'bout these crutch things yet."

"Oh, sorry," Carol apologized, still smiling as she released her grip on his neck. "It's just... It's good to see you up and moving again."

"That it is."

Both Daryl and Carol turned towards Rick, who was standing just to their right.

"Hershel say this is alright?" The Sheriff asked curiously, moving closer.

Daryl nodded. "Yeah. Jus' as long as I don't go runnin' no damn races."

"Good. We're voting on what to do with Randall in an hour."


	18. Chapter 18

A/N: Alright, so kind of a short chapter, but it seemed like a good place to end it. So... yeah, thanks to everyone who's read, special thanks and shout outs to everyone who's reviewed and all that. Enjoy. : )

* * *

"Well it's good to see you up and about."

Daryl inwardly groaned as Dale came into his line of sight. He'd been enjoying the first free moments – _on his own for the first time in nearly two weeks_ – he'd had, sitting in the barn relaxing, away from the nervous energy the whole damn group had been projecting all day.

"That seems ta be all I'm hearin' today," He said gruffly, awkwardly pushing himself to his feet, still adjusting to the crutches as he limped towards the door where Dale stood. "Whaddya want, Dale? I know this ain't some friendly chat 'bout how I'm doin'."

"I wanted to talk about Randall," The older man said firmly, stepping out into the fading sunlight with him.

Daryl scoffed as he leaned against the outside of the barn. "Gotta be pretty damn desperate if ya askin' me ta help ya save the 'lil bastard."

"Don't take what his group did out on him. He wasn't there. Besides, killing him isn't going to fix you any quicker. Isn't going to change what happened to you. He wasn't there, and punishing him for what his group did to you isn't right."

"I ain't takin' nothin' out on nobody," Daryl growled, scowling at the other man. "Ain't got nothin' ta do with me. That kid is dangerous; y'all're jus' too damn soft-hearted ta see it."

"He's just a boy, Daryl. How dangerous can he be?"

"Ya know what, Dale? Ya wanna try an' keep the kid, fine. I ain't watchin' him. Ain't nothin' I bring back feedin' his sorry ass. An' when he brings his group down on our head... I ain't savin' _your_ sorry ass. So y'all go 'head, an' do whatever the hell ya want. Treat him like some sorta lost puppy dog instead of a Goddamn jackal that's gonna bit ya in the ass soon as ya back is turned."

"Daryl - "

"Oughtta be headin' up ta the house. Vote's gonna be soon."

With that, he pushed off the wall, and started making his way towards the house, leaving the older man in stunned silence.

* * *

The air was practically vibrating with tension, as everyone sat or stood in the small, formal sitting room, staring at their hands, the floor, or the clock on the wall... anywhere but at each other. Glancing to her left, she was pleased to see Daryl standing there, half leaning against the wall, blue eyes scanning the room. She hadn't been sure if he'd show up or not, having already made his position quite clear.

She forced herself to stay where she was, despite the overwhelming desire to help him into a chair, or order a spot cleared for him to sit. In a setting like this, she knew that Daryl wouldn't take kindly to her babying; not right then, when the group was looking for guidance. Especially considering that when it boiled right down to it, she knew that the weight of his choice would be a deciding factor to the others. Despite Rick's insistence that everybody's voice mattered, she knew that Rick, Shane, Daryl, and Dale would be the ones who made the final choice. The others – herself included – were just there for show.

Which was probably a good thing, all things considered. She still wasn't sure how she felt about the whole thing. She could understand both sides. He _was_ little more than a child, and by himself, he probably _wasn't_ dangerous. But his group _was_ dangerous, and even a child could kill.

Daryl's words kept flashing in her mind. About the boy just standing and watching, as his group violated two little girls in the worst way a person could be violated. But even with that, she still couldn't bring herself to cast a vote in either direction. And after nearly ten minutes of bickering, she finally said as much.

She'd been surprised at the angry look on Dale's face as he turned towards her.

"Not speaking up... Or killing him yourself... There's no difference," He snapped.

Before Carol had had time to process what Dale had said – Dale who'd never even raised his voice to her – Daryl spoke, his voice a low growl, reminding Carol that despite everything – and even being laid up with a broken leg, and arm – Daryl wasn't a man a person would knowingly cross.

"Ya might wanna rethink how ya talk ta her, ol' man," He said quietly, his voice shutting the entire room up. "Otherwise me an' you's gonna have lot more than words. Ya wanna go off on some damn fool crusade ta save a kid that wouldn't piss on ya if you was on fire, so be it. But ya ain't gonna talk ta her like that. Ya understand me?"

"Let's... just everybody calm down, alright?" Rick said, breaking the silence that had descended. "If anybody's got somethin' to say before we make a final decision..."

Carol ignored the others, as the bickering resumed, staring in amazement at the hunter, who was still shooting death glares at Dale.


	19. NOTE

Alright guys... I'm terribly sorry, but I've hit some horrible writer's-block for this story. I've tried probably a hundred different ways to start the next chapter, and none of them seem to work. I'll admit, I kind of shoved myself into a hole by breaking Daryl's leg... But what's done is done, and there's no undoing it now. So my question to you is... I can either just end this story where it is, and start a sort of sequel, covering the months between Seasons 2 and 3, or I can keep trying, and hope to get some sudden inspiration or what not. Either way, I need some help from you guys. If you have any advice, or whatnot as to writing it further from where it is, I'd love to hear it! Because otherwise, I'm just going to slap a completed tag on this, and move on to the sequel like I'd planned on.


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: Alright so, terribly sorry this chapter is so short, especially after making you guys wait so long for it. Firstly, big shout-outs to JackAndHoney for helping me out, and giving me some ideas. Also, special thanks to Enecs, imustbeamermaid, and Jimli for their thoughts and advice as well. As of right now, the plan is to try another chapter or two on this, see if I like where it's going, (or more accurately if YOU like where it's going, and how it's playing out). If it works, fine, great, and good; if not, I'll cut it short, and move on to the sequel. As always, thank you to y'all for your support. : )

* * *

"So we gonna do this, or what?"

Rick turned, not surprised to see Daryl standing behind him, leaning against the house, while Rick stood, looking out over the railing.

"Yeah," He said slowly.

"Ya know, for somebody fightin' so hard for the little bastard to die, ya don't seem real happy 'bout it."

Rick scoffed. "Just because it has to be done, doesn't mean I have to enjoy it. Taking a life isn't something I'll ever be 'happy' about."

Daryl shrugged – albeit a little awkwardly, Rick noticed, still unsure of himself on the crutches – and moved over to lean on the railing next to him.

"Ya want me ta do it?"

Rick shook his head, although he wished like hell he could take the hunter up on his offer. "No. Thank you for offering, but no. Any idea where Dale went to?"

"Probably off mopin' on top of his damn bus," Daryl said with a snort, pulling himself back standing, and moving towards the steps. "Ya do what needs ta be done; I'll see if I can find the ol' man."

"Not gonna yell at him again, are ya?" Rick asked, unable to keep the small smile from his face, which bloomed into a full blown grin as the other man ducked his head, as he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Didn't yell at him. Jus'... Ain't right, yellin' at Carol. After everythin' she went through an' all; ain't right askin' her ta vote 'bout killin' a kid so soon after... what happened," The hunter muttered, still not meeting Rick's gaze. "I should a thought 'bout it sooner; she shouldn't a been there for that."

"You like her?"

"Wha'?!" Daryl sputtered, stopping half-way down the steps, his face turning an interesting shade of red – an impressive feat given his already dark complexion – nearly falling in his shock. "No! I mean... She ain't bad, an' all; like her as much as I like any a y'all here, I suppose, but..."

"Simple enough question, Daryl," Rick said, grateful for the distraction of what he was about to do. "Either you like her or you don't."

The other man had pulled himself together enough to shoot Rick one of his infamous glares, before turning around, and shuffling off towards the camp. "Got shit ta do, Grimes. Might wanna get to it."

* * *

Daryl was still glaring; at what, he wasn't sure, as he limped his way towards the RV, more than once mentally cursing the damn crutches that he tripped and stumbled over.

"Anybody seen the ol' man?" He asked roughly, stopping at the fire pit, where the group had gathered.

"He grabbed one of the rifles and said he was going for a walk," Andrea said quietly.

"An' what part a that did y'all think was a good idea?" He asked with a snort, as he started moving away from the fire.

"Daryl?"

Dammit. He'd almost thought he would be able to make a clean escape. He turned, and focused his glare on the small, petite woman standing a few feet away from him.

"What, woman?" He asked roughly, adjusting one of the crutches under his arm.

"Are... are you going looking for Dale?" She asked quietly, taking an unsure step towards him.

"Was the general plan," He grunted, turning around again, and starting back into the darkness.

"You sure that's a good idea?"

He turned again, Rick's words flashing through his mind, as he snapped, "I don't need ya ta baby me, woman! These ain't the first broken bones I ever had; managed jus' fine before ya came 'round, an' I'll manage jus' fine without ya. Why don't ya get back ta the RV? Ain't no use ta me out here. Go on! Git!" He barked, seeing her hesitate, looking at him with those big, gray doe eyes. "Go!"

He hated himself just a little bit more when he seen her bite her lip, as she turned, and practically ran back to the rest of the group. Why the hell had he snapped at her like that? Wasn't her fault Rick had his head all twisted up. Wasn't her problem that he couldn't stop thinking about the former Deputy's words, asking him if he liked her.

Like they were some stupid kids back in high school, he thought with a soundless snarl. 'Do you like her? Like, 'like' like her?'. He hadn't liked it back then, and he sure as hell didn't like it now. What he was thinking and feeling wasn't none of nobody else's business.

And he didn't '_like_' Carol either. Yeah, he felt a certain amount of gratitude towards the woman; hell, she put up with his cranky ass, taking care of him, and playing nurse. Least he could do was stick up for her.

Besides, she was the only woman who didn't have somebody sticking up for her. Made sense that he'd fall into that role. Didn't mean nothing, other than –

His thoughts were cut short by the screams.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: Alright so firstly, yes, this is a very short chapter. But it drained me to write it. Y'all better appreciate it, even though it's short; I rewatched this scene six times, trying to get it right. And I haven't watched it since the first time I watched the show through. Secondly, thanks to everyone who's read, and reviewed; I figure two, maybe three more chapters, and I'll wrap this one up, and start on the sequel. Also, since I'm wrapping up American Dream here within a few more chapters, I was thinking about maybe adding to one of my one-shots; so if you've read any of those, and there's one in particular you would like to see continued, or added to, lemme know.

* * *

Daryl let the crutches fall to the ground, ignoring the instant pain shooting through his leg as he bolted towards the sound of the scream, his heart pounding loud enough to echo through his head.

"Dale! Dale!" He yelled, seeing that damn hat that he'd made fun of so many _fucking_ times laying on the ground a few feet away from the man's prone body, a thin, emaciated Geek practically sitting on the older man's chest.

He cursed himself for nine kinds of foolish as his hands went to his back, feeling for his crossbow that wasn't there, the crossbow that was still sitting the porch. Another scream from Dale pushed all rational thoughts from his mind, as he lowered his shoulder, and charged the walker, feeling the pain rip through his whole left side, hearing his shoulder pop out of socket as he drove his knife through the decomposing skull with as much force as he could, before crawling back to Dale.

His stomach rolled as he seen the guts and blood spilling out of the older man. "Oh shit. Oh shit, jus'... jus' hang in there, buddy," He said forcefully, before glancing up, and seeing the lanterns and flashlights coming towards them. "Hey! Help! Help! Over here!" He screamed, looking back down at Dale. "You're gonna be fine, ol' man. Gonna be jus' fine. Jus' hold on."

He realized his hands were warm, and slick with Dale's blood; realized that for some stupid, pointless, God-forsaken reason, he was trying to pull the skin around the older man's stomach back together. Trying to push his intestines back on the inside where they belonged.

"Dale! Oh my God, Dale!" Andrea screamed, dropping to her knees, grasping for Dale's hand with her left, her right joining Daryl's in his useless attempts to piece the skin back together.

"Get Hershel! Get Hershel!" Daryl barked at Shane and Glen, who were just standing there like statues. _Why weren't they doing anything? Why were they just standing there?_

"I'm coming! What happened?" Hershel's voice carried across the field, the sound of his heavy foot steps coming closer and closer, before he shoved Andrea out of the way, and pushed Daryl's hands aside.

"Can we move him? Get him inside?" Rick asked.

But Daryl knew before Hershel spoke. It was too late. The set of the vet's jaw, the single tear that was welling up in his eye as he stared across at Daryl telling him that it was useless.

"He wouldn't survive the trip," The vet said quietly, leaning back on his haunches.

"Alright, we'll have to do the operation here! Glen, get back to the house - "

"Rick."

Daryl's hands moved of their own accord, ignoring Rick's raged screams as he began fumbling with the wound again._ Insides weren't supposed on the outside. They had to be inside. Inside the body; inside the torn flesh. Not outside. Innards in; not out._

"Son, you're just prolonging his agony," Hershel said softly, grabbing his hands, and pulling them out of the mess that had been Dale's stomach. "It's over."

Daryl yanked his hands free, looking over at Rick. The other man had his gun out; had it cocked.

_Prolonging his agony_.

_It's over._

_It's over._

"Do something! He's suffering!" Andrea screamed. "Do something!"

But Rick still hesitated, the gun aimed a few inches away from Dale's head.

Daryl steeled himself as he forced himself to his feet, ignoring the pain lancing up his leg as he moved over to Rick. He didn't speak, as he reached his hand out, the heavy weight of the Python feeling wrong – _so terribly, horribly wrong like everything else at that moment_ – in his hand, as he knelt down, tears – _tears, when the hell had he started crying?_ - pouring down his face as Dale lifted his head towards the gun.

"M'sorry, brother," He whispered, closing his eyes...

Pulling the trigger.

_It's over_.


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Alrighty folks. A couple of things. Firstly... For any Caryl fans out there, you seriously need to check out "Promise" by Endoh Misaki. For any Daryl fans, or Merle fans, you need to check out "The Bad, The Ugly, And the Dixons" also by Endoh Misaki. Without a doubt, one of the best authors I've read. Secondly, I'm sorry this took so long, but a) I haven't been feeling all that great, and b) I was uber-depressed, and unsure of how I wanted to continue. Which leads me to my third little note: This is the last chapter for this story. Don't panic; I'm already working on the sequel/follow up, which will pick up the morning after they leave the farm, and flashback occasionally to let y'all know what happens between this one ending, and the next one starting. But I need to move on, or this will never, ever be finished.

* * *

Daryl was scrubbing his hands and face as hard as he could in the bathroom sink. He'd been scrubbing for at least half an hour, the once-white washcloth stained red, but he just couldn't get all the blood off. _Dale's blood. Dale, who he'd shot_. _Dale, who he'd been too late to save._

"Daryl?"

He ignored Carol, still scrubbing, his raw skin protesting the harshness of his movements. He'd stripped his shirt and vest off, thrown them into the corner, unsure if he'd ever be able to wear them again, covered as they were in splattered blood.

"Daryl. Stop it. You're hurting yourself."

He couldn't hold back his snort, as he kept scrubbing. "I jus' killed Dale, an' ya worried 'bout me hurtin' myself. You're a real piece of work, lady."

"_Stop it_! Just stop it already!"

He turned, the washcloth dropping to the sink, forgotten in the face of Carol's words. Her sharp, pleading tone. He couldn't do anything other than stare, feeling a familiar sense of discomfort washing over him.

"_You_ didn't _kill_ Dale! A _Walker_ killed Dale! _You_ ended his suffering, Daryl. He was going to die anyways, no matter what we did. He was going to die in _agony_, and _pain_, and then come back as one of those _things_! Jesus, why do you _always_ do this to yourself?!"

He tensed, unsure of how to answer. Unsure of whether or not he was even supposed to answer. _Was_ there an answer to that question?

He didn't know. So he turned back towards the sink, and started scrubbing again.

Carol could feel her heart breaking, the uncertainty – the fear – in Daryl's eyes making fresh tears stream down her face as he glared at her for a few moments, before turning back to the sink, pointedly not looking at the mirror. Trying to ignore her.

Well, she was done with him ignoring her whenever he got uncomfortable.

"Daryl, you need to stop," She said firmly, grabbing one of his thick wrists, and pulling it towards her.

After a few tense minutes – _minutes that felt like years_ – he finally turned to look at her, his face broken, and tears in the corner of his eyes.

"I can't get it off," He said helplessly. "It won't come _off_."

She sighed, pulling the washcloth out of his hand, and moving him over to sit on the edge of the tub. Glancing down, she could see that he'd scrubbed his skin raw, both his face and his hands dotted with small flecks of blood.

As gently as she could, she slowly began wiping at his hands first, feeling his muscles stiffen at the close contact, at their proximity. But he didn't pull away, and she figured that was as much acceptance of what she was doing as she would ever get from him.

Almost without thinking, she moved the washcloth up his arm, the wet rag moving as if under it's own power as she ran it over the still-healing cuts from his time as captive, over the scars that were Lord knew how old.

For all his gruffness, he wasn't anything more than a broken, abused child. For all his harsh words, he had no self-confidence in himself at all.

Was that what Sophia would have turned in to, had she survived in this cruel, unflinching new world? A broken, lost, shell of a human being? A person who continually thought the worst of themselves? An adult who for all intents and purpose was still so much a child? So desperate for love and affection, and yet so unwilling to believe that someone would give it to them?

The small glimpses he'd given her into his childhood were enough to paint a vibrant picture of his early life, one that made her want to cry for the little boy he'd been. One that made her throat constrict, her blood boil at the thought of the people who'd hurt him like that.

As she moved to the other arm, seeing the long, jagged scar that ran up from his elbow, almost to his shoulder, she wondered if he'd ever had the opportunity he'd given her nearly two months ago, when he'd allowed her to bash Ed's head in with the pick ax. Had he ever gotten the chance to confront his father about what he'd done?

Did he still get the nightmares? She guessed that he did. She knew she still did, and she'd been adult – an adult with a relatively happy childhood behind her – when Ed had started abusing her. She'd had Sophia for comfort. Sophia to survive for.

"You're one of the strongest people I've ever known."

The words escaped her, almost before she'd had a chance to process them. But they were said, and when she dared a glance up at him, seeing the surprised, disbelieving look on his face, she was glad she had said them.

"Probably the strongest."

"Ya don't mean that," He mumbled, hanging his head, studiously avoiding looking at her.

"Yes, I do, Daryl," She said softly, lifting his head with one hand, as she slowly began washing his face. "I've never met another man as strong... as good... as you. And if it takes me the next forty years, I'm going to prove it to you. I'm going to make you see yourself for who you are.

"I think that's what I hate most about what you went through," She added quietly. "That it robbed you of seeing how good you really are. Of accepting anything but put-downs, and cruelty. You've got such a good heart that –" She had to stop, her voice breaking. She finally managed a weak smile, sitting back on her haunches, washcloth lying in her hand.

She was startled beyond belief when he tentatively reached his hand out towards her, his crooked fingers shaking. But she leaned forward, grasping his large hand in hers, and holding as tightly as she dared, feeling the shudders running through his body. Unable to stop herself, she moved closer, going to her knees, pulling him closer, wrapping her free arm around him, and holding him loosely. To her surprise, he released her hand, and returned the gesture, his hands going around her back, his head going to the crook between her neck and shoulder.

And – in what she was sure was the first time in his adult life – Daryl Dixon sobbed like the wounded child he really was, clinging to her as if his life depended on it.

* * *

End Notes: Thank you all so much for reading this. You have no idea what y'all's reviews, and continuous support mean to me. This was my first multi-chapter TWD fic, and only my second foray into this fandom. I love y'all, and appreciate everyone who has stuck by me through the waiting, and the writer's block, and the occasional awkward chapters. Thank you all. : ) I don't yet know the title of the new story, and I'm not sure when I'll post it; hopefully tomorrow night, or the following night, but I feel like death, so a lot of it is going to depend on how quickly I recover from this damn ear infection.

~letmefallasleep


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